Iron Angel
by MjrGenMatt
Summary: Just like the other Rainbow Six operatives, Meghan came from a life full of surprises. Things didn't always go as intended, but she was always sure of one thing. "There's only two people in the world that can do this job, and I'm one of them." A Valkyrie origin story, from childhood through her time on Team Rainbow, and beyond.
1. Point of Departure

**August 1** **st** **, 1992**

In every life lies a moment that defines who they are. Personality, outlook, dozens of intangibles. This moment contributes to making an individual with their own unique state of being. For some, this was all they cared for. For Meghan, it was something far greater.

Motivation.

The reason one does the difficult things they do, the reason they make the hard choices. What drives them to take themselves to the brink for the sake of family, success, or personal goals.

Meghan learned from a young age to put motivation in front of every other input. Having been born to a father in the Army and a mother working as a shock trauma nurse, failure was never an option. Her parents were not the hardline taskmasters one might expect from such backgrounds, but anything less felt _cheap_ ; beneath her.

Today would be one such day where Meghan would need to overcome hardship.

Today would be the day when her father taught her how to swim.

Meghan woke to the grating buzzing of an alarm on a bright morning. A steady breeze flowed through the open window, the thin curtains fluttering lightly. She switched off the incessant noise before rubbing her eyes and sitting up, gears in her brain grinding in an effort to shake the cobwebs of sleep. Her mind settled on the reason for being up at 7AM on a Saturday.

On her sixth birthday, her father told her that he'd teach her to swim when he came back from his deployment. The day arrived more quickly than she had hoped, yet here she was. With a yawn, Meghan rose from the bed and moved to the bathroom. She ran the water, washed up, and slipped into her two piece swimsuit.

As she padded down the stairs, a voice bounced off the cream-colored walls.

"-just isn't going to happen… I'm sorry, Robert, but it's just too short notice. You _know_ that we can almost never get leave at the same time, and Kenzie can't just take time off whenever she wants…"

He paced around the desk, one hand in his pocket as the other held the phone. The features on his face twisted, flashing through mild annoyance and exasperation. Meghan's gaze wandered, scanning the objects in the room. She settled on an ornate piece of paper hanging in a frame on the wall.

 _The Regents of the_ _ **University of California**_ _on the nomination of the faculty of the college of letters and science have conferred upon_ _ **Sean P. Castellano**_ _the degree of Bachelor of Science with a major in Civil Engineering-_

"Yeah, I wanted to see you too, man, but it can't happen now. You know we'll see you over the holidays… Heh, yes you can bring Alicia, just don't let her ask dad about his views on immigration. Alright, I'll talk to you later, Rob."

He placed the phone on the base, running a hand down his face. He looked up to see Meghan standing in the door of his office, holding her arm with the opposite hand, half-lidded eyes staring into the small room.

A smile split his face as he pocketed his other hand.

"Mornin' Angel, sleep good?"

Meghan hummed, speaking being too strenuous an activity.

He chuckled warmly, "What's the matter, dear?"

She huffed, "I don't see why I had to get up so early." Her tone fell into impatience.

Her father stepped over to the blinds on the window and pulled the cord. Light spilled into the room, assaulting Meghan's eyes and forcing her to raise a hand.

He pointed out, "What is that up there, Meg?"

She blinked, mouth hanging ajar, "Uhh, the sun…?"

"Yes, and what does the sun do?"

"Makes things warm…?"

He spread his arms out in an extravagant gesture, "Exactly! Perks of living in California, hun, the sun is _very_ good at its job here. Starting early means we avoid the parts of the day where it's extra hot. Make sense?"

A dissatisfied grumble was the answer.

"You'll see, it's for the best. C'mon, let's head outside."

* * *

Meghan shuffled at the edge of the pool, staring at it with a hesitant look. Her feet tilted inwards, body swiveling back and forth. As she absentmindedly tugged at the floatation cushions on her arms, she looked up at her father to see him swimming laps, knifing through the water like a spear from a ballista.

Upon hitting the near wall, Sean righted himself and pulled up his goggles. He pulled up his wrist to check his lap time, and pumped a fist.

As he refilled his lungs, his eyes flicked up to his daughter standing idle.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

She didn't immediately answer, instead dipping a foot in the pool.

"…I'm scared."

Sean's brows pinched, and he gave a faint smile.

"I understand. I was just like you when I was little."

Her face brightened as she gaped at him, "Really? You were?"

"Sure. Everyone's got a little something they're afraid of, even me."

Meghan tried to cross her arms, the floaties making it more like a frustrated hug.

"Nuh uh! Daddy's not afraid of anything!" She stamped her foot.

Sean laughed, loudly this time, "For you? I would ignore any fears I had."

The concerned look recaptured her face, and Sean waded forward.

He held out his hand, "Do you trust me, Angel?"

Meghan chewed her cheek. With a huff, she nodded defiantly.

He beamed, "That's my girl. Now come on, water's fine!"

She laced her fingers into his, and tentatively stepped into the water, until she stood chest high.

"We'll start off simple," he put a finger to his chin, "and I know just the thing. Hey Meg, can you make believe for me real quick? I want you to pretend there's little fishies in the pool."

She looked around, confused, "Okay… there's fishies here now."

"Good, now what I want you to do is talk to 'em! Take a breath, go underwater, and talk! Don't open your mouth, though, just hold the air as long as you can."

She complied, and Sean set his watch to count. Not long after, Meghan surfaced.

Thirty-seven seconds.

"Good job, Meg! Get your lungs back, then try again. Go for a little longer!"

She did, getting to forty one seconds. The next, forty-two.

When she came up again, Sean spoke, "You're doing great! Now I want you to try and catch the fish. Remember, they're pretty quick, so push your arms really hard. But, only do one motion each time. Watch me."

He demonstrated his teachings, and Meghan noted that he did the same thing as before. Singular, powerful strokes to push himself through the water.

Like a lion cub following its mother in a hunt, Meghan attempted to do as she saw her father do. Her initial motions were uncoordinated, lacking timing. She grew frustrated as her muscled ached, _why was it that she couldn't be like him?_

Sean noticed the increasingly flustered expression as she moved, and stopped her when she reached the wall. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Meg, let me tell you how I see a pool, or a lake, or the ocean. For me, swimming is how I calm down after a long day. The water is your best friend; it just massages all of the bad energy from your body. It doesn't judge, it doesn't yell, it doesn't ask anything you to do anything. You can tell it anything, and it makes me feel happy. The water can help you, if you respect it."

Sean prostrated himself again, "Watch how I use my _legs_."

He swam a lap again, kicking his legs in time with each other and the circular motions of his arms.

"You see what I did, hun? Try that, and pretend that your legs are like the motor on Uncle Rob's boat."

Something seemed to click in Meghan's mind, and she took off immediately to put this to the test. Each time she kicked, water moved out of her way. Every time she pushed forward, her body became one with the fluid. As Sean looked on, he could practically feel her willpower from where he was standing, his chest swelling with pride.

Meghan pumped furiously, limbs starting to move in synchronicity. Back and forth she went, launching off the wall as if knowing exactly what to do.

Sean bit his lip in a smile, _she always was a fast learner_.

She continued practicing, hours trickling by with minimal breaks. Sean checked his watch.

 **10:37**

He swore to himself; he had to be at the base by noon.

"Meghan, I gotta get ready for work. Time to get out!"

She slapped the surface of the water, "But dad, I'm getting really good!"

"I know you are, Angel, I've been watching the whole time! I'm so proud of you."

He knelt and hugged her, eyes misting over at the proud smile splitting her face.

"I promise I'll teach you some more later, kay?"

Meghan's head bobbed up and down, hazel eyes wide with excitement.

"Can I show mommy when she gets back?" She asked, bouncing all the while.

Sean chuckled as he tussled her hair, "If she isn't too tired, sure thing. She should be home pretty soon, kiddo."

He led Meghan inside, shutting the sliding glass door behind them.

Throughout the day, Sean thought about Meghan's growth in such a short time. She conquered fear, shattered doubt, destroyed dissatisfaction, all while exceeding her own expectations.

His little Angel was maturing before his eyes, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she gained her armor – piece by piece.


	2. Abject Adversity

**February 12, 1997**

As Meghan has learned, life is by no means a fair and balanced existence. It's a fickle beast, taking and taking and _taking_ from people, sometimes by force, with no guarantee of redemption.

Meghan woke up, coughed up a lung, washed up, bundled up, and rode the bus to school. All of this through a haze of cold medicine and hot chocolate, exacerbated by unusually aggressive biting winter air.

It sucked.

She crawled through the day in what could only be described as a slog, deflecting any unnecessary human contact and locking her speaking voice away in an airtight vault.

Meghan had a relative understanding with her fifth grade teachers. She was smart enough to listen, absorb, and apply what they were saying, so she did her work without the teachers forcing her to say anything if she didn't choose to.

If only the other kids were so courteous.

Meghan liked her friends, she really did, but if she was feeling like a truck made of virus ran her over, she _really_ didn't want to hold extensive conversations on the wonders of Dunkaroos.

At the risk of being "that girl," she answered everything non-verbally, nods and hand motions taking the place of spoken words. Fortunately, her friends knew – it _was_ the season, after all.

 _Unfortunately_ , not all of the snotty children were her friends.

* * *

Meghan stared at the clock. 2:28. Only thirty-two minutes to go… The teacher had them doing a math assignment to kill time until the end of the day, one that was laughably easy for her. As such, she was done within twenty minutes.

Not that _she_ was complaining.

The teacher strolled around the room, hands behind his back, looking from desk to desk. His gaze caught hers, and she pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. He got the idea, and cocked his chin toward the door.

She stood up and left the room, signing a 'thank you' to the teacher.

An empty hallway greeted her, the light squeaking of sneakers on the tile flooring echoing from wall to wall. Meghan hugged her sweatshirt-covered arms closer to her, wondering why in the world the air conditioning was on.

 _It might be California, but this is stupid._

The singular stream of thought distracted her just long enough for her to not register the second set of footsteps coming from around the corner, and she collided with a boy coming from the opposite direction.

Meghan squeaked out a scratchy 'sorry,' turning to continue toward her destination, before an exclamation sounded off.

"Hey dummy, what did ya do that for?"

She didn't answer, staring at the boy incredulously.

He continued, "Are you too dumb to talk? Did your parents not teach you how to talk?"

Meghan rolled her eyes and turned again.

"Hey! Are you gonna answer me?!" He placed his hands on his hips.

The boy ran and pushed her in the back. She stumbled and hit a row of lockers, a metal handle digging into her arm on impact.

"Tss- oww…"

Her eyes lit up in anger, and she stormed up to the boy.

"Don't do that again."

He scoffed, "You _can_ talk! But you're still stupid. Your clothes look dumb, and your hair looks like a boy's. Your mom and dad must hate you!"

"Shut up. Now."

"Or what? Are you gonna _tell on me_?"

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close, "Or I'll beat you up and cough in your face, you brat!"

She shoved him away and spun around, trying to will the walls into absorbing the little pig…

Until he chased her down _again_ and punched her in the same arm and spit at her.

This time, Meghan used the wall to fire herself at the boy like a rocket and hit him with her shoulder. His back hit the lockers on the opposite wall, rattling the locked metal doors. Before he had a chance to react to the pain, Meghan recaptured his bunched shirt and threw him to the ground.

A flurry of punches bounced his head back and forth. Left eye, right eye, left ear, right ear. Flailing attempts to get her off of him before she quashed them by punching each side of his ribs.

Heavy, ragged breaths left her illness-addled lungs, forcing her to cough at his face, adding injury to injury.

Satisfied, Meghan bounced up from her knees and left the crying boy to quiver in the hallway, alone.

* * *

3:19.

That's what the clock in the principal's office read. Meghan sat in the lobby of the administration group for the school, waiting for the hammer to drop.

The boy from before sat in the seat farthest from her, casting a glance her way every so often as if she was about to pull a Hitchcock and come back for more.

The incessant ticking of the wall clock was driving her crazy, she wanted to tear it down and smash it with the stupid little desk ornament on the receptionist's desk.

A tall, older man with a striped oxford shirt stepped into the room, "Gelvan, come in here please."

"Gelvan" shot up from his seat and bolted into the office. Meghan watched him go, before resuming her death stare at the time teller.

Soft voices carried from outside the office, dragging her attention away. Two adults rounded the corner, each holding expressions of disappointment. One, she assumed, was Gelvan's mother.

The other, was her father.

They sat down on either side of Meghan, and she wanted nothing more than to fade into the chair.

Sean rubbed Meghan's head lightly, "Hey Angel. You alright?"

She didn't meet his eyes, but nodded hesitantly.

"What happened, Meg?"

She shrugged, "Nothin'."

Sean and the woman looked at each other, and she spoke softly, "You don't have to be scared, sweetie, we just want to know. I won't be mad."

Still nothing.

"It wouldn't be the first time that Van did something like this. I guess this time, he got what he deserved. I kept telling him that one day, fate would catch up."

Meghan chanced a look up at the woman, "He said mean things and pushed me into the lockers, then he spit on me."

The woman sighed and shook her head, muttering something to herself that Meghan didn't catch. She looked to Sean and Meghan.

"I am so sorry, both of you. Seems I have to give Van an attitude adjustment."

Sean shook Meghan's shoulder, "Why don't you apologize, hun?"

She looked up at the woman with a glazed stare, "I'm sorry…"

The woman cracked a weary smile, "Thank you, dear."

Gelvan stepped out of the principal's office, eyes popping at the sight of his mother. Her expression soured, causing him to flinch.

The principal commanded everyone's attention, "You two should do some apologizing. Please."

Meghan looked up at her father.

He nudged her, "Go on."

Meghan leveled a harsh look at Gelvan, "Sorry."

He shuffled his feet, speaking as softly as possible, "Me too."

The principal looked at Gelvan's mother, "Two day suspension."

She gave a terse nod.

"Let's go, young man."

She shepherded him out of the office, harsh whispering filling the hallway as they left the building.

"You're up, Meghan."

The principal was expressionless, but she had a feeling that he'd already made up his mind.

She followed the man into the office and sat down.

"Start from the beginning."

So she did, recounting the one-sided "fight" from the time she left the classroom.

"…And you coughed-"

"On him, yeah."

He hummed, "Meghan, what do _you_ think happens now?"

"You're gonna suspend me, too."

"The only choice, really."

He sighed, removed his black-rimmed glasses, and placed them on the large wooden desk.

"If I'm being honest, Meghan, I don't blame you for what you did. I tell my daughters to do whatever they have to in order to defend themselves."

He leaned back in his chair and folded a leg to rest on his knee.

"But, there are rules. Doesn't matter how much Gelvan _deserved_ what he got, you still aren't allowed to hit people."

Meghan coughed into her sleeve and sat up, "So I'm just supposed to let _him_ hit me and say mean things and spit on me?"

"I didn't say he was in the right, he's still getting punished."

Her temper flared, "But that isn't fair! If I don't do anything, he still does bad things _and_ I end up hurt anyway-!"

The principal held up a hand and cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Meghan, boys just tend to do things like this when they're young. He'll learn, and grow out of it. _You_ still acted more out of line than him."

Meghan's mouth hung open, her brows knitting together in barely contained rage.

"Are you serious, sir?"

"Very."

Meghan looked down, seeing her arms visibly shaking. It took every fiber of her being not to explode on him. She looked up at him, fire burning in her eyes.

"Are we done?"

He tilted his head toward the door.

She stomped out of the office as he called behind her, "Week suspension, Meghan."

She hardly listened.


	3. Against the Current

**March 22, 2002**

Something Meghan learned over the years was that for her, swimming was very much a subconscious activity. When she dove into the pool, her limbs did the thinking while her brain took a back seat. By now, she was so used to doing it that she could go for hours without any noticeable slowdown. She moved with robotic precision while retaining organic fluidity; stroke after stroke nailed to perfection.

 _Dad was right, the water really is the best therapist_.

In the pool she had no worries – no homework, no nagging relatives, no immature boys trying for her attention. It was just her and the cool water. The pool was _her_ domain. Seventy laps, and the week's stress melted into the chlorine.

Medals and trophies of varying sizes cluttered her bedroom, to the point where she'd asked her mother and father to get a display case solely for them. Being the exceptionally proud type, they did just that without a second thought.

After years on the swim team, Meghan could compete with nearly anyone. She could dive in cleanly and cleave the water with powerful, rhythmic strokes until she reached the other end, all with abnormal regularity.

She knew kids her age were typically hyper competitive, but she wanted so much to be special, to outshine her peers in every way. With each therapy session, she came closer to that point. She had to be perfect. She _had to_. Anything less would be _unacceptable._

A whistle blew as Meghan touched the wall. She straightened out and hooked her arms to the top, looking up at the coach.

He had his arms crossed, his mouth tugging upwards in a proud smile.

Meghan lifted the goggles and wiped the water from her face, breathing deeply.

"How'd I do, coach?"

He lifted a hand to stroke his invisible beard, "I dunno, Meg, I think you might be getting slow in your old age!"

She rolled her eyes, "Very funny. You know, Coach Jackson, I think _you_ might be a better philosopher than comedian!"

He raised his hands, "To live is to _suffer_ , to _**survive!**_... is to find some meaning in the suffering."

Slow clap.

"If you start quoting _Beyond Good and Evil_ , I'm quitting the team."

Jackson raised his hands, "I'm stopping, I'm stopping."

"Good. Now, are you gonna tell me how I did?"

He turned the stopwatch, "See for yourself."

She lifted her body up to squint at the tiny screen.

A new record.

"Hell yeah!" She leapt, backstroking across the length of the pool.

Jackson watched her celebrate, his best pupil riding high on an energy so contagious he couldn't help but dance.

Meghan struggled to find a word to describe the feeling she was experiencing, but didn't care to find one enough to stress about it.

She hopped and dove through the water like a frolicking dolphin in celebration of _life_. The water celebrated with her, curving around her body and lifting her each time she jumped.

She swam to the edge of the pool and launched herself from the water, legs still pumping as she bounced in place.

"I'm gonna _smoke_ the competition! No way I'll lose, with these times!"

Jackson smirked, hands on his hips as he walked to black machine sitting along the wall.

Meghan tilted her head, face twisting. A shiver wracked her body, adrenaline wearing off _just_ enough for her to notice the cool air in the room. The coach tossed a heated towel from the machine, chuckling as it landed on Meghan's head.

She wasn't in a position to complain, and wrapped it around as much of her body as she could. She sat down on the bench next to the towel heater, Jackson taking his place beside her.

"You know something, Meg, every now and again it hits me just how _special_ you are." He held up a hand as she looked at him with knitted brows, "Hang on, hang on, I'm not getting weird on ya."

He looked around the pool gym, gaze resting on playoff and championship banners, equipment, team photos.

"From the day you walked in here, you gave one hundred and ten percent. Not only have you been doing everything I ask of you, you've been practicing outside standard times, breaking school records, helping your teammates better _them_ selves…"

He trailed off. Meghan elected not to speak, focus directed entirely on her coach.

"My point is, it's been extremely refreshing to coach someone so dedicated to team victory as you are. No challenge has been too great, no training has been 'not worth your time,' no issue with me or your team has been a hassle."

Her jaw hung open slightly before she found the words

"Not that I don't appreciate the praise, coach, but why now? What made you decide to say these things _now_ , rather than when I graduate?"

He clicked his tongue, "Because I wanted to bring up something to you."

She shot him a wary smile and narrowed her eyes, "Sounds pretty ominous, Coach J. You skipping town?"

"Heh, not just yet. I've got a couple years left in the tank. The _something_ is about you."

Meghan tilted her head, "Me? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, quite the opposite. Meghan, how far do you plan to go with your swimming?"

She looked out over the water, irises bouncing as they tracked the rippling waves. Swallowing hard, Meghan scratched at her cheek.

"I'm… not sure. I haven't put a lot of thought into it."

Her head swiveled to stare at the coach, "That must sound pretty weird coming from _me_ , huh?"

He snorted at the question, "Only if everyone else in the world is just as weird."

Meghan's lips pursed, tightening as her brow raised and drew together.

"Where are you going with this, Coach?"

He didn't immediately answer. Jackson stood up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked to the water's edge. He tossed a look over his shoulder.

"I believe you should think about going pro. I don't mean just to the interstate level, I'm talking _Olympics_."

Meghan gaped at him, floundering for words to address his proclamation. Her breathing became uneven; shallow inhales, shuddering exhales.

"I-I… I don't understand, how can you think I'm _that_ good?! I'm in _high school_ , Coach J, that's way beyond what I've ever thought of!"

He grabbed her shoulders, "Meghan, listen to me. From the moment you first came in here and tried out for the team, you've been nothing short of incredible. You've never let anything keep you back, and put forth a winning effort the likes of which I haven't seen in a long time at the grade school level."

Jackson pointed up at one of the championship banners, "Your work ethic, performance, hypercompetitive attitude, and selfless nature are _at least_ as good as that of all of those names you see up there."

Meghan's mind was drowning. Her eyes flicked left and right as she stammered, searching for something, _anything_ , to throw her a life preserver. Jackson took the hint.

"When I was a member of the team for states at UC Berkeley, I was among the best male and female swimmers in the state. You know what our times were for the very same exercises you just did today?"

She dumbly shook her head.

" _Twenty eight seconds_ _ **slower**_ than what you just clocked. I'm not embellishing even a little bit when I say that your ability and drive are remarkable. Plus, you take every extra step to better your teammates. I don't know the last time I've had such a well-rounded swimmer on my roster."

Meghan rubbed her shoulder, before pressing her palms together in front of her mouth.

"I don't really know what to say, Coach, other than… well, thank you for thinking so highly of me. I try my best to make this a good time for everyone, but I had no idea that it was _this_ special for you…"

He smiled, "I don't expect you to have all of this figured out right now, or even in the near future. I'm just suggesting that you can be _great_. You've made my job a hell of a lot more enjoyable since you joined, and if you want, I'll do everything in _my_ power to help you reach whatever heights you want to."

She stared at the floor, eyes tracing the tile pattern. She absentmindedly wrung her hands together, skin turning red from the force.

"Take some time to think about it, Meg, this is a big-"

She slapped her thigh, the echo bouncing off the walls, "I'll do it."

He startled back, "Oh?"

"I know I have skill, and you're willing to go so far to encourage me to dream bigger. It would be stupid of me to ignore _both_."

Jackson pumped his fist, "Hell yeah, Meghan! I'm so proud of you. We're gonna turn you into a goddamned star!"

Meghan's brows curled downwards, a devilish grin taking hold of her features, teeth bared on one side. She cracked her knuckles.

"So, where do we start?"


	4. Riptide

**June 13** **th** **, 2003**

If Meghan was superstitious, she may have held some misguided reservations about competing on Friday the 13th. A day found once or twice per year, associated with black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, and whatever other silly things people talked up to justify plain old _bad luck_.

Fortunately for her, she didn't _need_ luck. Skill would be what propelled her to victory, just as it always had.

Still, she found herself sitting in the visitor's locker room on a bench facing the door to the pool. Her hands were tented, eyes locked on the floor. Despite her confidence, the raw power rolling off her shoulders, that tiny little shred of doubt always seemed to make its presence known.

" _We know you can do it, Meg!"_

" _You've got this, no sweat!"_

The exuberant exclamations from her teammates mere minutes earlier played over and over again in her head. They were right, they had to be. She could do this!

…Right?

She lifted her gaze as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Coach Jackson rounded the corner, excited smile on his face.

"The break's almost over, you ready?"

She said nothing, and he saw the expression she wore.

"What's up, champ?"

Meghan exhaled, lifting her head to meet his gaze, "Just, nerves, I guess…"

He took a seat next to her, "Perfectly normal. Still, I know you've got what it takes to win this."

She whined, bowing her head and clutching at it, elbows resting on her knees.

"But what if I _don't_ , Coach, what if I fuck it up?"

He smirked and shook his head, "We're gonna need to get a swear jar for you…"

She deadpanned at him, "Very funny."

"I'm serious, after a month we could afford all new gym equipment! Maybe a set of bleachers…"

"Coach…"

"Even a brand-new filtration system for the pool!"

Meghan found herself giggling into her hand.

Jackson smiled, "Glad I could help. But hey, listen. No matter what happens out there tonight, know that everyone on this team is proud of you. You've done right by all of us, especially considering how much you've done to help."

He stood up, "Besides, not like this meet is the gateway to _your_ ambitions. So, let's get out there and win this thing, you goddamned champion." He held out a hand.

"Ah ah ah, that's one for the swear jar!" She reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

"I'll put it on my tab."

* * *

 _Inhale, count to four. Exhale, count to four._

Meghan stepped onto the starting block, chancing a look around the gym. Down the line were the state's greatest female swimmers, all gunning for the title she _knew_ was as good as hers. On the sidelines, teams and coaches prayed that their champion would be the one to clinch the final event.

In the stands…Sean and McKenzie sat, waving and gesturing at their star of a daughter.

Meghan had the best support network of anyone she knew. All of them came to watch a show of skill, with the ambition of watching her claim the trophy.

The official raised the megaphone to his mouth, "Racers! Are you ready?"

They all knelt, one leg splayed behind as their hands braced their weight. As if switched off, Meghan's mind went blank.

"Set!"

Her head lifted, her cocky grin adorning her face.

A whistle blew, sending the swimmers rocketing into the waiting water.

Sound gradually dropped out of her senses. Her breathing slowed and steadied, trained to allow for the most efficient muscle movement – any wasted air only slowed her down.

Meghan's state of mind in a competition entered a realm akin to the water itself – persistent and methodical, dangerous when angered. She was in her element, poetic symbiosis melding them into one. Slow, peaceful tones wrapped themselves around her body, pulling it in sync with the water.

Meghan spun, hit the wall, and launched for another lap. Again, and again, and again… After the seventh lap, she noticed far fewer people keeping pace.

Amateurs.

One by one they dropped from _actual_ contention, and Meghan used each small victory as motivation to keep grinding. Soon enough, only two others remained. Within two seconds, they all kicked off for the final stretch, and she found herself a half stroke behind.

To the untrained eye, it seemed that Meghan wouldn't have the ability to pull this out. However, like a shark to its prey, she could see her opponent fading. Prey that was growing tired, the stress from the constant chase pulling the other swimmer down into the dark below.

With a burst, Meghan propelled into the current, riding the driving current into the lead spot. With mere meters to go, she sped forward and touched the wall, an air horn sounding above.

The three swimmers vaulted out of the pool and stood in place, chests heaving. The time judge rose from his seat and slowly made his way towards them. A nervous quiet permeated the room, the judge seemingly walking at a snail's pace deliberately.

He passed one racer, then the second, and stopped in front of the third, raising her arm.

Meghan had won the California state competition for her team.

The section housing her team and fans erupted in cheer, in complete contrast to the deflation of the others watching. She found herself swarmed by teammates, Coach Jackson standing back with arms crossed and a proud smile.

* * *

The locker room celebration lasted for the better part of half an hour. As soon as Jackson managed to get everyone more or less paying attention, he addressed the group.

"You all know I'm not really one for long-winded speeches, but this has to be said. I am so _goddamn_ proud of every single one of you; you all brought you're A-game tonight. None of your efforts can be understated, and you cleared the final hurdle effortlessly."

One by one he went down the roster and individually thanked them for their hard work, leaving Meghan for last.

"And I don't think I need to state just what _you've_ meant for us, Meg. You took us above the competition, and made us one happy team. So, thank you."

She gave a dramatic flip of the hair, a rightly smug expression on her face. A chorus of demands for a speech fired off from varying persons in the room.

Meghan laughed and threw up her hands, relenting to the horde. She climbed onto a bench and looked over her teammates.

"First off, I want to congratulate you all; everyone pulled their weight today. It was a team effort that got us here, and now we can look back knowing that we gave it our all and have everything to show for it."

She pointed at the team, sweeping her hand across the length of the room, "And I want to thank you all, for all you've done for _me_."

A flurry of confused looks went around the room.

"Being on this team… having all of you to be friends and teammates with, to help me grow, to pick me up, to be the best people a captain could ask for… it's been everything I ever could've wanted from the experience. I'll remember this night as a first of many, and I hope you've all had as much fun as I have in getting here, because it won't be stopping any time soon."

She hopped to the floor and raised her fist, "Bring it in, everyone!"

Meghan's teammates surrounded her, "Family on three, one two three!"

"Family!" Whooping cheers went from wall to wall until Jackson caught the team's attention.

"Well said, Meg." He put his hands on his hips and looked to the floor, "You know, I think some sort of _actual_ celebration is in order…"

His head lifted, "And I know just the thing. Dinner and dessert at Ruby's tonight, all on me!"

The team cheered again, pure joy threatening to punch holes in the lockers.

"Dress casual, you know the drill. I'll see you all there!"

* * *

 _Whatever, fuck it, this'll do. I'm not trying to impress anyone._

Fabric from the blouse fluttered as Meghan wrenched the hanger from the closet, frustration marring her face. She gritted her teeth, pushing an annoyed sigh through her nose.

Evening traffic in California was always rough, didn't matter where you lived. Meghan had little patience for it, especially when she had somewhere to be. She'd texted Coach Jackson and her co-captain that she'd be late, colorful language highlighting each sent message.

She capped off her outfit of the evening, checking the final results in the mirror.

 _Not about to let some stupid pricks holding up traffic ruin my chance at having fun._

Meghan grabbed her camera from the nightstand. She held her left elbow, with the hand holding the camera resting lazily to the side. She smirked.

 _Damn, I'm fuckin' hot._

She righted the camera and snapped a picture before returning the camera to the stand.

She descended into the living room, using the bottom of the banister to hook around the staircase and propel herself toward the door.

"Dad, I'm taking the Acura. I'll be back later tonight."

Sean turned from the television, placing an arm on the top of the couch, "Be careful, Meg, summer Fridays bring out the extra stupid in people."

She waved him off and turned to leave, "Yeah, yeah, I know dad."

He called to her back, "Meghan I'm, serious. Please be careful," She turned to face him, "For me."

Meghan looked at her father, and seeing the conviction etched into his face pushed her to give a nod, "I will. I'll see you later. Love you, dad."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

With that, she opened the door and left the house.

Meghan gingerly lowered herself into the car, clicked the seatbelt on, and started the engine.

She backed out of the driveway, and made her way toward the on ramp to Route 76 from Canyon Vista. As she got up to speed and merged into traffic, she became aware of just how light it actually was.

 _Weird… maybe everyone's already out drinking._

Five or six pop songs later, signs dotted the road, marking on ramps and off ramps for downtown. Meghan's bobbed up and down, hands drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of her new favorite track, voice belting out perfectly tuned lyrics.

At a break in the verses she looked back to the highway to see she'd almost missed the exit.

She dropped the carefree attitude and gripped the wheel with both hands, swearing under her breath. She jarred the wheel to the right in an effort to reach the off ramp in time.

A deep horn blast ripped through the air, causing Meghan to jump in her seat and slam the brake pedal. Her head whipped around in the direction of the noise as her breathing became erratic.

Time simultaneously slowed and sped up, her brain struggling to keep up with the stimuli. The tractor trailer roared past her, horn Doppler effect-ing the whole way. She fell in line with the exiting vehicles, white-knuckled hands clutching the steering column for dear life. She sucked in as much air as she could, her body having momentarily forgotten that she needed it.

Meghan slowed to a stop at the traffic light at the end of ramp, and ran a hand through her hair and down her face. She reached for the volume knob on the radio, the violent shake in her hands not going unnoticed.

 _Get a fucking grip, Meg, you nearly just killed yourself…_

Taking a final deep breath to even herself out, she released the brake pedal upon seeing the very same tractor trailer sluggishly move its way forward. She got onto the North Coast Highway, waiting for the sign for Pier View Way – the public lot there was the closest to Ruby's without having to walk more than she had to.

The light at Civic Center Drive flashed yellow as the tractor trailer crawled under it, earning a groan from Meghan before she stopped at the intersection. Again she drummed her hand on the wheel, albeit this time because of the wait.

 _I just need to get out of this car and eat some goddamn food. Coach is gonna freak out at this one…_

The light flipped, and Meghan switched her foot between the pedals. The engine spun up as the car started rolling forward.

Screeching tires forced her attention to the left, and Meghan had just enough time to pull in a terrified gasp before a pickup truck slammed into the door.


	5. Maelstrom

**June 13** **th** **, 2003**

Black.

Meghan's vision was encompassed with dulled, hazy, _black_.

The only sound she could discern amongst the jumbled mess of nerves was her blood pounding against her eardrums.

With great effort, she pried her eyes open, desperately searching for _anything_ that could explain why she was in this situation.

Her head sluggishly rolled along her shoulder, bloodshot eyes leveling an empty stare at the left side of her car.

Broken glass. Jagged metal. Bent, fractured plastic.

 _What the hell happened-_

A new sound assaulted her ears – sirens. Muffled voices surrounded her, concern and terror seeping into each word.

All at once, the floodgate opened and threatened to hold Meghan's head under with a force she wasn't sure she could top – she'd been hit by a car.

She groaned, blunted senses making it impossible for her to tell just how bad things were.

Meghan made an effort to pull her torso up, before the tangle of wires making up her nervous system sparked together, a complete circuit being present for the first time since the accident. A scream tore from her throat, muscles and bones shrieking in agonizing pain at the disconnected nature they now possessed.

The car melded with hers rolled backwards, glass fragments crunching underneath its tires. A huge set of metal jaws forcibly separated the door of Meghan's car from the frame, before falling clean from it to the ground.

She continued to scream, tears mixing with dirt and blood as it ran down her face. Through the noise, faint sounds of words directed at her registered in her brain.

"-going to be OK-"

"-try not to move-"

Meghan felt herself being removed from the car, the ceiling of an ambulance being the last thing she saw before blacking out.

* * *

Slow, rhythmic beeps.

That was the sound Meghan woke up to. Not for the first time that day, she struggled to open her eyes.

And, again, not for the first time that day, the voices around her were not immediately clear.

"-sure there isn't any chance that she…"

The first two figures, with their backs to Meghan, had their hands over their mouths. The third, facing Meghan, shook his head, somber expression painted on his face.

"No, it was just too severe. I cannot, in good conscience, allow her to continue-", he paused, noticing Meghan looking in their direction.

The man, wrapped in a white coat, approached her bed and knelt down. The other two turned, and the pain-stricken faces of Sean and McKenzie stared back at her.

"Hello Meghan. How are you feeling?"

She blinked slowly, and found that her mouth was too dry to speak. What came forth, instead, was a raspy scratch followed by a hacking cough. The doctor handed her a water cup.

Meghan's parents walked to her other side, and McKenzie took her hand, running her thumb over Meghan's knuckles, "Hi Angel…" Her voice wavered, and Meghan swallowed painfully upon seeing the tear marks on her cheeks.

"What- happened?"

Sean looked to the doctor, cocking his chin in the man's direction.

"You were hit by a drunk driver, Meghan. He ran a red light, and hit your driver's side door. You suffered a number of lacerations and bruising, internal and external. Nothing's irreparable, but you'll be down for a while."

He sucked in air, "Your arm was pinned between the door and your body, and at a very bad angle. You have two fractures in your humerus. The first is comminuted, and what that means, is that part of the bone broke into several fragments."

Meghan stared up at the doctor with enlarged eyes, chest tightening.

"This is a serious injury, and can take months to fully heal. Now… The other break is longitudinal, meaning that it runs down the length of the bone, rather than across it. This one is worse, and it could take up to a year to get back to normal function."

The doctor heaved a nervous sigh, folding his hands and looking to the floor before looking into her eyes.

"Your father tells me that you're a very talented swimmer, with sights set on the Olympics."

Tears leaked from her eyes as the tightness in her chest snaked its way into her throat, "Please…"

He pulled his lips together and placed a hand on her shoulder, "As a medical professional, I must tell you, as much as I really don't want to, that, at this point, you should not try for this. The rigors that competitive swimming put on your body will almost certainly lead to more extensive damage."

She released a single, choked up sob, "But- but this is my passion, this is my _life_! Swimming means _everything_ to me, I don't know what I would _do_ without it!"

"I'm sorry, Meghan. Everyone in your life, myself included, would feel terrible if you hurt yourself even worse somehow-"

"This isn't _**fair**_!" She felt her mother's forehead fall against her shoulder, but continued to yell at the doctor, "Why did it have to go like this!? What am I supposed to do without my sport, my team… what am I supposed to tell my coach-"

"I want nothing more than for you to be _safe_ , Meg."

Meghan's eyes snapped to the door, her mouth hanging open. Coach Jackson stood in the door frame, hands in his pockets, bags pulling at his reddened eyes. She covered her face with her hands, openly sobbing into them.

The others in the room said nothing, but Jackson pointed to his wrist, and nodded as they got up to leave. Sean and McKenzie each shared a hug with the coach in the door, and Jackson spoke softly to Sean.

"I am so sorry, both of you."

Sean spoke, "Me too, Kyle. Me too…" He pulled back, glancing at his daughter on the bed, "She needs to hear from you right now. I don't know how much we'll be able to do."

Jackson looked back, "I'll do my best. Go get some rest, Sean, you've had a long night. And Kenzie," He pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket, "Get a coffee. You need a break."

"I don't know how I'm going to finish my shift like this," She swiped at the tears running down her face, "But I'll try. Thank you for coming, Kyle."

"Of course. Now, go. I'll come get you on my way out."

Meghan's parents hugged him again, before leaving the room.

Jackson walked to Meghan's bedside, pulling a chair up to the mattress. Meghan seemed to shrink, almost ashamed of her current status. Her cries grew quieter, but no less pronounced.

Jackson put a hand on her shoulder, "It's gonna be alright, champ. We all still love you, and you're still here. The same can't be said for the other guy, and that alone makes this situation bearable."

"I'm so sorry…" Her voice cracked, causing her to wince at the perceived weakness.

" _You're_ sorry? Aww man- Meghan, if anyone should be sorry, it's me. If it wasn't for my plan, you wouldn't be in this situation. But, it's neither here nor there; it isn't a fault on either one of us. _You are still here_."

She didn't respond right away, still holding her face in her wet hands.

"What- what am I gonna do, coach? Everything I've worked for, everything I've overcome since I was a kid, all of it, _gone_. Where do I go from here…?"

He sighed, "I can't answer that for you, Meg. Beyond being your swimming coach, there isn't much I can do for you that someone else couldn't do better. My job has been to help mold your passion, your unmatched energy, into an Olympic athlete. Now, you're going to have to direct that energy elsewhere."

Meghan pulled her hands away, bloodshot eyes locking onto the coach's, "But I don't know what else I _can_ do, coach, this has been my _life_ … I don't have the same drive for anything else. I don't want to bottom out now, or end up teaching someone _else_ how to be great because I can't do it myself-"

She stopped, "I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's OK. I know you didn't mean anything by it, and I understand where you're coming from. Meg, for what it's worth, this doesn't have to be an ending to your pool life. You can still come see me whenever, and I know your teammates would love to keep seeing you. Hell, in a bit you can even use the pool for recreational swimming."

Again she chose not to speak immediately, staring dejectedly into the sheets.

"The team is here, out in the lobby. Do you want to see them?"

"I guess." She squeaked.

It broke Jackson's heart to see Meghan like this – so broken, so defeated. He _had_ to throw her a line, had to be a lighthouse in the storm.

"Meghan, can you look at me one more time before I go?"

She complied, but still said nothing.

"Whatever happens next, I know you can do _anything_ you set your mind to. You are the strongest girl I have ever known. But, you cannot let this injury define you. Don't let it ruin another dream, beat it until it isn't an issue anymore. You are a fighter, and you do everything in your power to make your dreams, and those of the people close to you, succeed. This is _not_ the end, Meghan. Stay strong, just like you always have been."

Coach Jackson stood, and headed for the door. He threw one last look over his shoulder, "'He has heart who knows fear, but vanquishes it; who sees the abyss, but with pride.'"

With that, he turned and left. He wasn't sure if his words would take, but he _did_ know that it was all he could do. Even if it took everything she had, she would overcome this.

She had to.


	6. Eye of the Storm

**May 10, 2004**

Meghan's face contorted, but she remained silent as the tattoo pen crawled up her arm. After six hours in the chair, she was good and sick of how that _fucking_ broken spring dug into her lower back, and the wisps of smoke that rose toward her face with rhythmic repeatability.

"Paula, do you suppose you could chill with the chain smoking while I'm here? I'm not looking to sound as bad as you do by the time I'm 30."

The older woman let loose a gravelly laugh from the left side of her mouth, the other still clutching the cigar with her teeth.

"No can do, kiddo. Need 'em to keep my hands from shakin'. You don't want a fucky lookin' sleeve, do ya?"

She scoffed, "Well then could you at _least_ get a new chair? My back's getting sore from the dagger poking through the leather."

"Thought you was used to feelin' springs while you were on your back?"

Meghan chuckled dryly, "Granted, but usually what's going on _during_ that is a little different."

"Amen, girly."

Over the course of the past year, Meghan had set aside a chunk of money from her bullshit job as a warehouse stocker with the goal of doing _something_ to deal with the eyesore that was her left arm. In the months following the accident, she'd grown to resent everything about her scars and her life before she got them.

Her life had changed drastically since then; a number of activities and people trying to fill the void in her life after swimming got thrown into the grinder. She'd become less tolerant of her family, often fighting with her father over every little thing.

When "his little angel" had her wings ripped away from her, he vowed to do whatever he had to do to keep her safe from any harm for as long as he could. A noble sentiment, one might think. Meghan, however, being not only a teenager but a recently jaded individual, did not take kindly to what she deemed "oppressive helicoptering," and pushed back against him. Combine that with the expected rebellious tendencies of being her age, and the powder keg rolled closer to the open flame by the day.

So maybe the tattoos weren't just to hide the scars.

Meghan found Paula during her search for an artist with experience in such a thing, and they met several times to work out a design that both hid the marks and told a story. During their talks, Meghan had decided to get both arms inked, because " _why leave a job half finished?"_

According to US law, persons between 14 and 18 must have written permission from a parent or legal guardian to get inked. A look at a calendar told someone that Meghan did not meet the age threshold to go by herself. Not to be deterred, she came up with a plan to circumvent this _inconvenience._

One phone call later, and she received a signed and notarized form, sent by one Robert Castellano.

' _Enjoy your early birthday present, kiddo!'_

And so, in early April, Meghan walked into Paula's shop and booked the first of four appointments to transform her arms from battle-scarred monstrosities into canvases for new age art.

Paula continued down Meghan's arm, the buzzing pen leaving behind trails of black ink. Meghan watched as the pen passed over and around the malformed skin, diamond chains and woven chevrons replacing the ugly scar tissue. Tribal tattoos made up the lower sections, accentuated wavy shapes dancing along the circumference of her arm.

The motor stopped, and she looked at the area just below her shoulder to see a finished sun-like shape peeking over the horizon of her sleeve.

"And I think that just about does it, Meg. Stand up 'n check yourself out in the mirror."

Meghan sprang out of the shitty chair, rushing to see the results.

"Oh _hell_ yes!" She flexed both arms, watching as the lines bounced and tightened with the muscles; a new armor welded just for her.

Paula smirked and shook her head, "You told your momma and daddy about these yet?"

Meghan soured, "Nope, and at this point, they're just gonna have to get over it."

Paula took a puff from her cigar, "Listen, kid. It ain't none 'a my business, but you oughta figure your shit out with them. Take it from me, you don't wanna alienate your family like that."

"Yeah, well, maybe dad shouldn't make an effort to alienate _me_. My life is my own, and I'm not going to let anyone or anything rule me."

"There's certainly worse ways to think… Well, just don't forget what I said." Another drag, "So whatchu doin' after school, kid? You could come work for me if you wanted." She laughed, devolving into a coughing fit.

Meghan's eyes dropped, "Been thinking a lot about that. I still want to be something great, Paula. Can't be an athlete, but maybe there's something I can still be the best at."

Paula turned her back as she stowed her equipment away, "You could always join the military, Meg. Do somethin' great with them."

"Would you believe me if that was at the top of the list? Ever since 2001, that's always been at the back of my mind…" Meghan crossed her arms, "You ever heard of the SEALs?"

"Sure, my ex-husband failed outta the training for 'em. You tryin' to get in with them?"

"Maybe. Just the idea of that interests me, but… What I do know is that I want to give back. It'll be a bonus if I can do that while becoming something even better."

"Probably helps that it'd stick it to ya daddy if you joined the Navy," Paula mumbled.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of that." Venom dripped from every word from Meghan's mouth.

Paula took a long drag, the tip of the cigar burning a bright orange, "Kid, that shit ain't no joke. I'm not tryin' to discourage you, but military programs that selective chew up and spit out men twice your size.," Another huff of tobacco smoke, "And I can't imagine whoever's in charge is mentally ready to let women in anyway… But, kid, you sure you want to try this?"

Meghan puffed her chest, "Just a few months ago I was training to be one of the world's best athletes, preparing to share the stage with the most talented people in swimming. That isn't possible anymore, so what then? I've decided that I want to join the military, so why settle for topping out as some grunt?"

She jabbed her thumb into her sternum and raised her voice, "I've never once looked at something and thought, 'there's no way I could do that.' So what if no woman has ever done it? Just means that trophy will belong only to me. I prove what I'm made of, and show the world what we're capable of!"

Paula exhaled smoke through her nose, "Relax, Meg, no need to get all excited, I was only askin'."

Only then did Meghan realize how close she'd moved toward the old woman, nearly standing over her. She backed up, muttering a terse apology.

Paula shrugged, extending a hand, "Well, let me know what you decide on. Come back in a week so I can check up on the sleeves."

Meghan tentatively returned the gesture before composing herself, "You got it. Thanks, Paula."

* * *

Meghan shut the door of her home, bee lining for the staircase.

McKenzie swiveled her head from her spot on the couch, and looked to Sean before tilting her chin towards their daughter.

"Talk to her, Sean, I'm sick and tired of the toxicity in this family. She hardly even comes home anymore…"

Sean exhaled loudly through his nose.

"That you, Meg?" Sean called.

She hummed, but continued up the stairs.

"No no no, Meghan, please come back here," Sean stood and made his way to the stairs, leaning on the banister.

Meghan sighed loudly, hanging her head before looking to him, "What?"

McKenzie stood up and tentatively walked to her husband, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Meghan followed her parents' eyes to her arms, and snapped back to Sean's face, waiting for either of them to say _something_.

"I'm going to guess you haven't been ignoring our calls and staying anywhere other than home for the last several weeks because you've been extensively researching colleges?"

She crossed her arms, "You'd be right."

"And when do you plan to do that?"

McKenzie shook Sean, "Hun, can we not-" He shook her off.

"Let her answer." He crossed his arms.

"I don't."

Sean's eyes narrowed, "You may want to reconsider that, Meghan."

"Probably not gonna happen."

"And what do you plan to do with yourself after high school, then?"

She shrugged, "Join the Navy." This got her mother's attention, whose jaw slacked.

Sean scoffed, "Good one, smartass."

"Man you are gonna be _pissed_ when you find out that I'm totally serious."

He stared into her eyes, "Bullshit."

"Believe what you want, dad," She turned.

He followed her for a couple steps, "Why, oh why, have you been so snippy and confrontational with your mother and me recently?"

Meghan snorted, "Because you two have done nothing but try to control everything about me for _months_ , and I'm tired of it. Just let me live my own life, and make my own choices!"

McKenzie struggled, to no avail, to defuse the ticking bomb in front of her. There was no pair of wire cutters prominent enough to stop this timer.

He raised a finger to her, "Frankly, I'm not convinced that you deserve to make some of these choices. 'Responsibility' has been a word missing from your vocabulary for a while now. Just look at what you blew your money on!"

Knocked on the defensive, Meghan raised her voice further, "It's _my_ money, and I don't see what difference it makes to you! I really don't care what you think!" She whipped around to leave.

"We are not _done_ , Meghan!" Sean raised his voice.

McKenzie tried to shoulder way past her husband, "Okay, that is enough, Sean-"

"Let me finish, Kenz, this has to be said."

Meghan turned around, mouth open, and arms outstretched.

"Never mind why you would _want_ to join the Navy, what on Earth makes you think that you _can_?"

She descended enough to stare him in the face, "I can do whatever I damn well please! But why stop there? I'm going to apply to the SEAL program, and I'll be the fucking _best_ at it!"

The sound of Sean's breathing amplified, as he spoke with a harsh whisper, "Don't be ridiculous, and watch your damn mouth, young lady!"

"There's only one of us being ridiculous here, dad, and it isn't _me_. I'm gonna goddamn do it, with or without your support, and I'll make you look like an idiot for doubting me."

Both combatants puffed themselves up, battling for top dog.

"Even if this wasn't the most outrageous thing you've ever suggested, you wouldn't be able to get close to doing any of that even _before_ your accident, let alone now!" Sean's teeth snapped together.

Meghan's fiery gaze flitted left and right, up and down. Her body shook, armor cracking at the blow. Try as she may, she couldn't keep the shock and pain from her face. Tears formed in her eyes, stinging as they pushed down her reddened cheeks.

Just like that, the dog fight was over.

Sean's expression changed in an instant, as if he'd been slapped, "Meg, I- I didn't mean-"

She was already halfway up the stairs. And Sean certainly didn't _feel_ like a winner.

* * *

Angry tears rolling down her cheeks, Meghan pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a series of numbers.

"Lex, I'm coming back to your place for a while… No, I gave it one chance, and I regret it already… Thanks, I owe you and your parents so much."

* * *

Hours later, after night had long fallen, Sean cautiously made his way up to the second floor. Wringing his hands, he padded his way to Meghan's door and knocked.

"Sweetie, can I come in?"

No response.

He knocked again, harder this time.

"Angel, I just want to apologize for earlier."

Nothing.

His brows creased, and he inhaled before opening the door.

"Meghan, please, let me just-"

What greeted him was an empty room.


	7. Maiden Voyage

**August 8, 2005**

The halls echoed with loud, crisp footsteps. A figure with a pressed shirt tucked into a pair of pants marched through the building, turning into a large room towards the back.

He stopped at the door, tightened his stance, and folded his hands behind him.

"Everyone up!"

As if a grenade went off, the dozens of recruits bolted up and jumped from their bunks. Within seconds, every last person in the room was standing at attention at the feet of the beds. Meghan stood among them, eyes forward and face stoic.

The sound in the room died, and the drill instructor walked down the lines.

"Welcome to week four. If you know anyone who's been through these halls, they might tell you this is hell week. As you can see, I've woken you up at oh-three-thirty. Is anyone here tired?"

"No, Petty Officer!" One, synonymous shout.

His brows knitted together as he shouted, "I can't hear you!"

" **No, Petty Officer!** "

"Good! Now get your asses cleaned up and form up for the PFA!"

The physical fitness assessment. She'd passed the preliminary test with ease, but everyone knew that was easy mode. The second iteration was the first real challenge that Meghan actively worried about in bootcamp. A benchmark that every recruit had to meet with the knowledge that they were at risk of letting not only themselves down, but their fellow recruits as well.

Meghan was no stranger to putting teams on her back, but this test went beyond her ability to carry. This test failed the whole class if enough participants sank. This test, was on par with Olympic qualifying standards.

It was a topic of no small amount of internal debate if she would be able to kill _those_ particular demons. She knew that her physical and leadership abilities were sufficient, but the mental aspect of the concept alone gave her pause.

She had rehabbed her injury extensively, trained harder than ever before to get back to standard. But that wasn't good enough – she had to be _better_ than standard.

And hell would freeze over before she was _**standard**_.

 _They'd have to create a new precedent._

* * *

Meghan stood outside amongst her peers, in PT gear, waiting. She watched as they completed their tests, one activity after another. She'd memorized every one, and the requisite benchmarks.

 _Sit-reach, curl ups, push-ups, five hundred yard swim._

"Castellano! Sit-reach, let's see it."

She stepped out and sat down, legs extended and knees locked. With minimal effort, Meghan's hands latched to her toes, sticking like glue for the required one second.

Keep goin'."

She arched her legs and crossed her arms. Slow inhale, slow exhale.

"Get started!"

Meghan's body sprang into action, muscles flexing and relaxing in perfect unison. They executed like a well maintained engine, pistons firing perfectly into the cylinders. A trick Jackson had taught her long ago was to think of anything else, to ignore the buildup of lactic acid. Once the subconscious action gets going, the mind wanders to a strong thought. In Meghan's case, it was the primary accelerator in her life.

 _Motivation._

Her mind went to her high school teammates, and how they would all do anything for each other. The ones who mentored her at the beginning, how thankful she was for their tutelage. The ones she competed with day in and day out, how much she appreciated people to keep her sharp. The ones she taught and praised when she was top dog, how much she loved watching them grow.

"Next exercise!"

In one fluid motion, Meghan pushed herself upwards, balanced her weight on her right arm, and rotated about the planted hand. Her splayed hands and toes of her boots held her weight as she pushed.

She thought about her teachers and coaches, Jackson being at the forefront. How patient he was with her, the extra hours he spent building her up. The techniques, tricks, and tactics he taught her in becoming the state's best swimmer; his constant pushing to make her into a well-rounded individual.

A dullness started to creep into her left shoulder.

"Next!"

With a shove, Meghan launched herself up and ran for the track. Her mind shifted to her friends, how much she missed being around them. Laughing at stupid jokes, causing trouble for themselves at school, doing stupid shit in the city that nearly got them arrested. She thought of the high school boyfriend she left behind, how he tried to convince her not to leave because "the military is full of stupid jarheads and cold-blooded killers."

 _Let me know how working the loading dock at SafeWay works out for you, Tommy_.

"Last one, Castellano!"

Meghan jogged to the pool, pulling her shirt and shorts off before diving in.

She closed her eyes as she hit the water, and in her mind's eye only saw one thing.

Red. Anger. A roaring flame stoked by the poker of spite, fed by a gas can full of _grudge_.

The image of her father played on repeat, flickering like a broken film reel. His doubts and thinly veiled venom drove her muscles like a shot of adrenaline, limbs pumping furiously as she attacked the water.

Stroke after stroke, she went from end, once again thinking nothing of the activity. In what seemed to her was the blink of an eye, a whistle blew from the edge of the water, eliciting an involuntary flinch.

Meghan stopped, chest heaving, and hefted herself from the pool. She snapped to attention, holding perfect posture as she awaited evaluation. Her left arm felt pins and needles from the trunk to the hand, hot spikes slowly pushing into her nerves. She grit her teeth, determined not to show weakness.

The stat keeper looked between the sheet and the recruit, his face never betraying his thoughts.

"Nice job, rookie, go clean up."

"Yes, Chief."

Meghan broke her stance and returned to the barracks, smug smirk on her face.

The results would speak for themselves.

* * *

Meghan was no stranger to firearms. Sean, being an Army man, had several in the house while she was growing up. He was hesitant to let her use them, and he always took the opportunity to drill gun safety into her head. The two times he relented and took her shooting, he was stunned at just how _well_ she could operate his guns.

Not that he would ever admit that.

 _Oh, how fate twists one's expectations._

Meghan steadied her breathing, letting the light breeze on the range siphon the spent air from her lungs. She brought the glow sights to eye level, right hand supporting the weight, and double tapped the trigger. The force from the recoil rocked her arms, but she did not waver. Like a well-oiled machine on automatic, the handgun was holstered and re-brandished, slinging bullets with deadly accuracy.

She flicked the eject lever, letting the spent half-mag fall to the ground and sliding the fresh one into the port. Her grip switched, left hand now holding the gun, and she repeated the process. A pinch hit her forearm, but the chest and head of the wooden three yard target splintered all the same.

The first dummy lowered as the seven yard target sprang up. She fired three two-round volleys, strong hand supporting once again. Starting a ten second timer in her head, Meghan fired twice more, swapped the cartridge, switched to her weak side, and shot two more rounds before sliding the barrel into its holster.

Another timer, eight seconds this time. The barrel found itself pointed at the target and spitting its final two bullets downrange. Like the previous dummy, this one was relieved by a third target, now fifteen yards back.

Meghan drew a deep breath, setting her stance and narrowing her eyes as she took aim. She fired two rounds in just under four seconds and slid the gun away. She dropped to a knee and shot four more before reloading and holstered. Finally, time seemed to slow as Meghan set her last timer – to fire the last eight bullets within eight seconds. The slide rocketed back and forth as a steady stream of brass casings bounced every which way. The barrel smoked after the last round left the chamber, like a wildfire deprived of oxygen.

The final dummy fell, riddled with holes from head to torso. Meghan made a conscious effort not to smirk, expecting an earful if she slipped up. She walked to the range bench and took the barrel in her left hand to extend the pistol to the range master. He nodded at the table, and she placed it down.

"Outstanding, you showoff."

Her arms snapped to her sides, "Thank you, Chief."

"Get your ass over to the next range."

She wordlessly complied, moving with purpose toward the first barricade of the shotgun course. Meghan had to make a conscious effort to steady her breathing, wary of what the Mossberg might do to her.

She stepped up to the barricade, twenty-five yards from the target, and loaded the five shells laid out next to the shotgun into its receiver, before leaning into the barrier. A shuddering breath left her lungs.

"Begin!"

Five loud bursts rang out, punctuated by rhythmic clicks, and hot casings were thrown to the ground. Meghan stood firm, despite the tremors that tore through her with each pull of the trigger. Each successive target was riddled with pellets, but she knew better than to count.

She marched to the second station, a low barricade at kneeling height and twenty yards from the dummy. As the four shells slid into the chamber, Meghan found herself quietly scoffing at just how _shitty_ the training weapons were. The thing looked like it was fifty years old, and _felt_ older still. She noticed that the ejection port had way too much friction, and wondered how long it would be before the gun jammed on someone.

Meghan shook her head and knelt down, stock pressing into her already-sore muscles, and the second set of targets found themselves just as perforated as the first.

The third station saw her standing with her weapon at the shoulder position at fifteen yards, but minus one barricade to support her stance. She shoved the creeping feeling of dread from her mind.

 _I'll be fine…_

Four shells went in, and she pulled the trigger. This time, Meghan winced as the stock buried itself into the fabric of her uniform. Her body started calling out in protest at the repeated actions. She refused to think about it, and pumped the shotgun.

 _ **Thud.**_ A loud exhale left her flared nostrils.

 _ **Thud.**_ Her lips pursed, tightening around her teeth.

 _ **Thud.**_ She groaned against her will, angry at herself for letting it happen. The petty officer standing by glanced at Meghan, her pained expressions not slipping by unnoticed.

The fourth station may as well have been a burning room, for all she wanted to do with it. This test would have her load the final three shells and shoot from the hip at ten yards with no barricade. Meghan had an idea of how much force this firing position would put on her bones, and if she was honest with herself, she was scared, but refused to let that show.

She clenched her jaw, leveling an angry stare at the target. The gun coughed a loud burst of pellets, and again Meghan winced. She fired again, earning another flare of the nerves. With a grunt, she adjusted her hold on the weapon. She took the shotgun's forestock in her right hand and forcefully jerked the frame, ejecting the spent shell.

Meghan reassumed the firing stance and pulled the trigger for the final time. She shifted her grasp on the shotgun to the forestock again, and used the prostrated firearm to brace herself as she fell to a knee, breathing increasingly labored.

The petty officer ran to her side, kneeling to her level.

"Is everything alright, Cadet?"

"My arm, sir. I'll be fine."

He looked at the targets and saw the collections of center mass shots before facing her, "Let's go, I'm taking you to Medical. You're done for today."

She accepted his hand and pulled herself up. As they walked from the range, she glared at the shotgun.

Just one more opponent to conquer.

* * *

Meghan sat in the Medical wing, running through the list of physical therapy exercises given to her by the camp doctors. She turned to the door upon hearing someone entering the room.

"How are you feeling, Castellano?"

"Never better, doc. Like I told Petty Officer Benjamin, I'll be fine. The shotgun at the range just made me real sore."

The doctor crossed his arms, "You shouldn't act so nonchalantly about your condition. Times like this, I wonder why they let you in. You're lucky, someone must really like you. You may be in exemplary physical shape, but it wasn't some 'nothing' injury you had."

Meghan scoffed, "You make it sound like I've got the Plague or something. Thanks for the reminder, by the way."

She sighed, "Look, doc, I'm not blind to my 'condition.' I know it'll be a bitch to live this life sometimes. Thing is, that makes me even more determined to make it work. I'm willing to put in the extra effort, and I want to be the best I can be despite it."

The man shrugged, "I can't say I don't respect the drive. And, given, your assessments so far, I suppose it'd be crazy to stop you now. I just hope that, for your sake and ours, your body holds up." He turned to leave.

"Me too, doc. Me too."


	8. Anchors Aweigh

**September 9, 2005**

A haze of sounds bounced around Meghan's eardrums like the droning flatline static of a dead TV broadcast. Varying pitches and inflections accented the bevy of voices talking _at_ the lineup of uniformed people. They stood, motionless, listening to speakers congratulate their efforts so far, and layer on the reality that there is much still to come.

Meghan swore that she'd make the best effort to pay full attention, but she was never one for pointless ceremony. Much like graduation from junior high school, this served to, in her eyes, annoy Meghan by its existence.

 _I got through the entry exam, yay. Give me my assignment so the_ _ **real**_ _work can start._

Meghan forced herself to refocus, making a conscious effort not to move in the meanwhile. This wasn't some _nothing_ accomplishment, she kept reminding herself, this was the first test in the commitment to a completely new way of life.

One of the first lessons she'd learned through a torrent of shouted words and close-range spit of a drill instructor was that her rebellious nature would get her forcefully dry docked in a hurry.

Being a part of the United States armed forces meant being a part of something greater than one's self, a sacrifice beyond leaving home to obey orders of someone they'd never met. Being an effective contributor required the casting aside of one's lesser qualities, so that they may better serve the collective that strove to keep the country and its interests safe, and if that meant that Meghan had to can her contempt for perceived extravagance to avoid being torpedoed on the front lines, so be it.

A video flickered to life in the auditorium, spitting snapshots in time from the earliest moments of the new inductees' time at the facility. Getting measured, stowing of personal effects, getting her hair cut, the first days in the classroom for orientation, shots and medical assessments… calling home…

A numbing feeling punched its way into Meghan's gut – that was a particularly awkward conversation. At the time she wasn't convinced she wouldn't be immediately hung up on, but on reflection she almost wished she had been. Speaking with her mother nearly deep sixed her entire plan – she hated hearing McKenzie cry. After a few terse sentences, Meghan was told that her father was "out with his friends," but she knew better. Sean wouldn't want anything to do with her after the past six months.

She was on her own, now.

The video switched to the training exercises they had endured. Fire safety, with the stuffy uniforms and hoses. Chemical suits and gas masks, with somehow even _less_ breathability, ironically. The water-based exercises – Meghan puffed herself up as it showed her leading the pack in the diving and raft drills. The firing range, that damned shotgun. Meghan found herself grinding her teeth, and clenched a fist to calm herself.

The image Rear Admiral Danvers flashed on screen, talking at the audience, thanking the graduates for their leap into servitude, and particularly their families for the sacrifice, for allowing their loved one to be a part of "the greatest Navy in the world."

The irony was not lost on her.

Further bands played their songs, further flag bearers paraded around the room. Meghan held her ground, trying to bask in what was a celebration of her, among others. One by one the state flag holders lowered their patterned fabric, cheers of varying intensity following each utterance. Much to her non-surprise, Texas and New York received the most raucous reception.

The far doors opened as the announcer introduced the staff of the base, and row by row Meghan watched as those that molded her most hastily strolled down the lined floor. These people, despite whatever initial thoughts she may have held for them upon arriving, were already among those she respected most. Their influence, she had decided, was akin to that of a hurricane – over the course of a short time, they affected her life in ways that would change her forever, though not typically in gentle fashion. Whether she liked it or not, they burned her new way of life into her skull, and set the tone for who she would eventually strive to be.

That was their cue, and the divisions of the newly graduated class marched into the auditorium. The booming voice introduced them as a sportscaster would, cheers and applause filling the room with echoing reverberation. As they'd done so many times already, they followed instruction as the ceremony proceeded. Moving as part of a cohesive whole, she eventually stood with her unit at the center of the room. The crisp voice of the male coordinator never failed to test her composure; she'd always found it laughable how they were able to make one syllable words last for five seconds at a time, baritone notes dragging every last letter through the halls.

A female lieutenant cut the following silence, her trained speaking voice commanding the attention of the room. She introduced herself as a training command officer, and gave a brief overview of the time that the nearly eight hundred recruits has spent in her care. One by one she acknowledged the leaders of the divisions, giving the petty officers their rightful moment of recognition. Meghan watched as her division officers stepped forward and saluted the crowd, unable to keep herself from imagining her name being called in such a fashion.

 _One day._

More songs and prayers came after a few high ranking individuals _did their thing_ at the front of the groups. Again Meghan found herself tuning it out, she was rapidly approaching the point of no attention. For a second time, however, her focus snapped to the sudden yelling from the division leaders as they signaled "farewell" to the training camp. She barked out the sailor's creed in unison with her _new_ family, and fell back into silence as the fanfare started _again_.

Gun twirling and instrument playing, while very pretty and impressive, did nothing for her at this point. Hell, it may have even started to worsen the whole experience, were she the drama-loving sort.

 _Finally_ , the commanding officer of recruit training command said his piece, before he handed the floor to the announcer for the doling out of division awards.

Meghan, alongside a few other notable recruits, stood in formation front of the guest officers of the ceremony, waiting for the announcer to get through the long-winded distinction descriptions. As the recruit in front of her turned and marched off, she took the initiative.

She stopped, snapping to a salute, "Good morning, Captain! Seaman Castellano reporting!"

The man smiled and returned the gesture, "Hooyah."

* * *

The overhead speaker crackled to life once more, **"Seaman Meghan Castellano, Division 105, from Oceanside, Calfornia, is the recipient of the Military Order of the World Wars Award of Merit. This award is presented for meritorious performance during recruit training. Seaman Castellano is presented with a commemorative plaque from the Military Order of World Wars. Well done, Sailor!"**

* * *

During the announcement, the Captain spoke with her, "Congratulations, Castellano, you really did it. I had my doubts, but you proved us all wrong."

Meghan didn't try to conceal the smirk, "Respectfully, sir, I'm just getting started."

"I believe it. I know you'll go on to do great things."

Her lips tugged ever upwards as she rolled her shoulders, "I appreciate that, sir. I'll do my best to make you proud."

"Sailor, with much confidence, I can say that you already have. I'm looking forward to reading all about just how far you can take your military career."

She allowed herself a single, measured laugh, "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Thunderous applause erupted around them, and she side stepped to greet the next person, the visiting congressman. They shook hands as he handed her the aforementioned plaque.

"Good morning sir."

"Good morning. Congratulations on your accomplishments, and keep up the good work."

"Thank you, sir."

She didn't know the guy, and had a feeling he was only here because he drew a short straw, but mustered the same level of humility regardless.

Another sidestep, this time coming face to face with a much higher ranking official.

"Good morning, Admiral." Another salute.

"Good morning." He extended his hand and shook, "Congratulations, well done."

"Thank you sir."

 _Short and sweet, I like it._

Meghan resumed her march, reuniting with those recognized in her division. The adjutant spoke briefly before handing the podium to the congressman. He spoke of his efforts in the House of Representatives to highlight the need for expanded naval presence worldwide, which meant functioning bases and shipyards as well as sailors. The man orated with a practiced speech, all mannerisms carefully ironed out in ways only befitting to politics. Despite that, his message resonated with Meghan, sheerly from his tone. At the end of it he added that he, too, was once a sailor, and the previously unqualified nature of why she appreciated his character was made clear.

 _Maybe not_ _ **just**_ _because he drew a short straw._

He and the commander did their final march past the division leads, saluting each time they met in line. Once they were free of the room, the section leaders lead the fall out.

Just like that, it was over. Cheering and clapping once again filled her ears, as the divisions broke formation to converse among themselves and the people from the rapidly emptying stands. Meghan watched as her fellow sailors met with their families and guests, making her situation feel even more lonely.

A hand laid itself on Meghan's shoulder, and she turned to see who on earth-

Her face lit up, "Coach Jackson!"

She threw her arms around him, "What are you doing here? How did you know I-"

"Slow down there, killer." He chuckled, rubbing his chin stubble after he pulled back.

Meghan waited, albeit with waning restraint.

"Your mom told me, and gave me her ticket. Wouldn't miss this for the world, Meg."

The mention of her mother stung, although she wasn't surprised. McKenzie always knew that Kyle was Meghan's lighthouse in the raging sea.

"I- I'm sorry I didn't invite, I had no idea that you-" She trailed off, looking away from him.

Jackson put a hand on her shoulder once more, giving a light shake.

"It's OK, Meghan. No harm done, I'm just glad I got to see you in your biggest moment yet."

She drew a shuddering breath, "You're not… disappointed?"

Jackson took a step back, "Disappointed? God, no! Meg, that night in the hospital, I told you to find something else to take refuge in, some other activity to base your life around. 'He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.'"

He gave her a warm smile, pulling her in for another hug.

"This is as good as I could have ever hoped! I know you're gonna do great."

Meghan looked into his eyes again, trying to match the raw determination he was exuding. For now, she would take him at his word.

She nodded, "How about, after I get free, we catch up. I'll give you the details behind, well, all of this." She opened her arms at the room, "I'll call you?"

He flashed a grin, "I'd like nothing more."


	9. Holding Pattern

**December 22, 2006**

Meghan scribbled on a piece of stationery, hand struggling to keep up with the speed at which her mind was going. She had written almost an entire letter in a haze, only realizing what she'd done as she signed her name at the bottom of the page. She folded the paper and shoved it into an envelope, destination and postage already on it.

 _Mr. and Mrs. Castellano_

 _120 Basilica Way_

 _Oceanside, CA 92057_

Her deployment to the Joint Base at Pearl Harbor-Hickam several months ago had been taken with a great deal of excitement. Away from the continental United States, yet still comfortably within its reach. A "stone's throw," the assignment coordinator had said.

The promise of exotic locale, plentiful activities, and exciting duties had snared Meghan in its grasp, metal teeth sinking into the logic center of her brain.

But, as Meghan knew all too well, expectation is not guaranteed to line up with reality.

If someone had told her that she'd be analyzing weather patterns to determine when and where natural disasters would occur, she would've told them to shove it. Yet here she was, making notes about the way in which the ocean's temperature was 0.13 degrees cooler at Station 52403 yesterday, and what that meant for coastal Papua New Guinea.

On top of the absolutely _riveting_ day job, her cohort could best be described by the word "sedentary." No drive, no ambition to do something more than stare out at the sea of numbers on the monitors facing away from the sea _outside_. Few and far between were the days in which she could do something exciting outside of work.

 _They found a way to make even_ _ **Hawaii**_ _boring. Lovely._

The holidays, especially, found Meghan with no small amount of melancholy. She was only marginally in contact with her family, and most of her unit was either on leave or otherwise indisposed. What resulted were nights spent celebrating publically at a bar near the base with those in similar situations.

At the very least, Meghan wouldn't spend _whole_ nights alone.

The trip from her bunk room to the base was familiar, yet empty, non-essential personnel having left already. She sighed and walked her letter to the mail stop, kept in operation by the one poor soul that had been assigned there. Meghan tossed it into the "outgoing" bucket, voicing a friendly greeting to the mail attendant.

Even with the reduced number of persons, the base's intelligence facility was sparsely populated at this early hour. Meghan had learned quickly that the best analysts got started early, and extensively poured over the reports from the previous shift. Being caught unprepared in this field was not only inconvenient, but occasionally fatal.

That's what her mentor had said, anyway. The only way lethality came anywhere near _this_ place would be in the event of a hurricane or tidal anomaly.

The occasional shuffling page and the odd three line conversation greeted Meghan as she pushed her way into the situation room. The workstation was as it always was – clean, yet barren. Personal affects weren't strictly forbidden, but the effort to put flair on one's desk depended greatly on how much one cared for the job.

Meghan did not care much for the job.

As expected, nothing earth shattering ran through the base while she slept. Reports on atmospheric and oceanic patterns occupied her morning. A thermos of coffee kept her awake through the sheer roller coaster of excitement within every charted bit of kinetic energy rolling inside the waves.

Meghan looked up and saw the clock reading 13:19, a weary sigh escaping her lips as she realized she'd managed to "research" her way passed lunch. She'd just gotten into a groove of assembling a thesis that the islands were due for an unusually large tropical storm when her stomach sent a reminder of what time it was.

She sighed and looked out a window, mind calming at the sight of the waves lapping at the shores.

 _One day, I'll study shit that matters. One day, some big task will come my way. And when it does… I'll be ready._

A chair creaked beside her, "See anything new out there?"

Seaman Rebecca Winters, the usual suspect. A soft spoken girl from rural Kansas, just happy to be out from under the heavy lift helicopter that was her parents' household. Her tied black hair sat in a tamed knot, rimless glasses outlining her gaunt facial features. One of about three people that ever held Meghan's interest for more than a few minutes.

"New and exciting water particles, same as usual, Winters."

A content sigh came from Meghan's accomplice, "At least the view is nice."

This exact exchange was a daily occurrence, as regular as the tide itself. Meghan had played along one too many times, and now this was the norm.

Just one more thing reminding her of the mundanity of everything.

"It isn't so bad, you know."

Meghan did a double take at the uncharacteristic comment, "What do you mean?"

Winters kept her gaze outward, chin sitting on her palm, knuckles curled.

"I know you don't think much of this posting. It's obvious to me, but that might just be because we work in the same twenty square feet every day. This wasn't your dream job out of high school, hell, it probably wasn't what you wanted coming out of Boot."

Meghan waited, lips slightly parted, eyes squinting.

"Can I share something with you, Meghan?"

"Uh-, yeah, sure, what is it?"

She finally looked at Meghan, brown eyes softening as she clasped her hands together.

"You know my story, so you know that my life isn't as exciting as some. I'm not bemoaning that, merely stating."

Meghan cocked her chin, eyes narrowing as her lips pursed. _Who says that?_

Winters glared at her, tilting her head, "It may not shock you if I tell you that I resided a bit low on the social totem pole in school."

 _Doesn't surprise me at all, I can practically see you standing against the wall of the gym during dances, refusing to meet anyone's eyes-_

Meghan shook herself. When had she become so vindictive, and for no reason whatsoever? The answer, she thought, might just become clearer shortly.

"I didn't drink or party, mostly kept to myself, and associated with others that did the same. This lifestyle wasn't completely my choice, since my mom and dad were so strict, but I would be lying if I said I had the balls to argue any of it."

Winters rubbed behind her neck, leaning back, "But I wanted so badly to be different, to break out of the padded cage they'd confined me to. No matter how cozy it was, it was still a _prison_. I took the first opportunity to do just that, and since my grades weren't anything special and my hobbies included nothing productive, this was it."

Meghan leaned against the desk. She still wasn't sure where this was going, but kept quiet, regardless.

"But, one thing my mom taught me will always stay with me. She would say 'Even if your job sucks and you want nothing more to quit and never come back, you have to make the most of the situation and try to impress someone anyway. People will remember the one that silently did both the good and bad jobs with no objection before they remember the loud asshole that only took what they thought was worthy.'"

For a moment Meghan wondered if she'd ever woken up this morning. Was this a dream? Who _was_ this person sitting in front of her? The one that normally said as many words as a pamphlet for the blind, was orating a whole section on life philosophy from the Library of Congress at her.

"My point, Meghan, is that you shouldn't ever take the chances you're given for granted. You put in the time to get here, and they put _you_ here instead of someone else. That means you're special enough do the things this job requires," Her face fell, voice gaining a tone bordering on pleading, "Not everyone is. Do your best with all the work you're given, and those in positions to raise you up will take notice."

 _Speechless_ didn't begin to cover it. Meghan caught the clock flip another digit in her periphery. In just four short minutes, an associate she'd previously thought marvelously unassuming had taken a metaphorical sledgehammer to her crooked outlook.

Meghan's eyes flicked this way and that, as if searching the room for any explanation, before finding her voice after another tick of the clock.

"You've… given me a lot to think about, Becca," She noticed the lift in the girl's expression at the use of the nickname, "and I appreciate the wake-up call. Seriously."

Winters beamed, dimples forming on her reddened cheeks. She gave a bemused shrug, "My pleasure. It isn't every day I get to share something so personal with someone."

Meghan couldn't help but reflect the smile, and for the first time since she arrived on base, she felt truly _happy_.

"Hey, you wanna hit the mess?"

Winters looked to her own terminal, apparently satisfied that Station 52402 wasn't going anywhere.

"Absolutely."


	10. Trial By Fire

**April 17, 2007**

Petty Officer First Class Meghan Castellano tiredly swirled the stirring straw around in her coffee thermos, perfectly aware that the cream and sugar had long since mixed with the hot, bitter liquid. The rhythmic motion, she kept telling herself, was helping to keep her awake.

Or something like that.

She blew over the top of the cup before fixing the lid back on and taking a sip. Scalding, just how she liked it.

The room filled with monitors and work stations was more than a little empty, with only four keyboards clicking away with the urgency of a Monday morning DMV clerk.

Flanking Meghan were two other intelligence specialists, both with their own caffeine storage devices filled to the brim. A yawning man entered the rear of the room, causing both of Meghan's counterparts to stand and snap to attention.

" **Sir!"**

Meghan simply raised a hand with two fingers extended, "Mornin', Chief."

Senior Chief Petty Officer James Samson waved his hand dismissively, "At ease. Morning, all. Castellano, you got my pick-me-up?"

She tossed an oatmeal bar at him and held up an equally large thermos, emblazoned with a skull and crossed bones on the side, "Extra heart stop-y."

The specialist to her right, PO3 Angela Foster, scoffed, "Technical term, Meg?"

"You know it. Take notes, I'm teaching a course in Important Shit 101."

Specialist Hector Garza hummed, "I'd better buy the textbook for that before it's too late…"

"Alrigghh alrigghh, lefs get dis shit goin'," Samson spoke through his food. He swallowed and shook his finger at Meghan, "Let's talk to our friend."

"Copy that," Meghan removed the stereo headset from the metal holder next to her terminal and placed it snugly on her head. She flicked the switch on the computer base and tapped the microphone.

"Check one, check two," The speakers around the room crackled to life, her voice bouncing off the walls.

She muted herself, "Thank Christ for mic monitoring… we're good to go, Chief."

Samson sat in an empty chair, folding his hands behind his head and putting his laced boots on the desk, ankles crossed. He held the half-eaten oatmeal bar in his teeth as he made himself comfortable.

"This is your show, Castellano. Call 'er up."

Meghan called up the secure communication line and entered the unique identifier and recipient codes before pressing the red "Execute" button. The large central screen in the room flickered on.

 _Establishing connection…_

A green check mark took over the screen before a covered camera appeared. Locational data and a counting clock showed in the corner. Meghan flicked the mic arm down to her mouth.

"This is callsign Hammer, challenge phrase 'Smoke,' how copy?"

An accented female voice came through the speakers, "Callsign Fracture reporting, response phrase 'Fire.' _Dzień dobry_ , _moi amerykańscy przyjaciele (_ _Good morning, my American friends)_. Happy to see me?" The camera feed popped in, revealing a young brunette woman in snug cold-weather gear, a ballcap on her head.

She couldn't help but smirk, "Always. Good morning Elżbieta, I trust all is well?"

Elżbieta sighed, "I fear Yuri suspects something, as he grows increasingly paranoid and short-tempered. He continues to extort and torture, including his own workers. At the smallest of inconveniences, those under him are sent to be maimed or killed. No one is safe."

Yuri Oliynyk, Target Zero. Local warlord, of Soviet descent, working to upset political balance in Ukraine. He'd developed an intensely nationalistic belief system, going on record as saying that the current establishment was too soft, and that only "pure-blooded" individuals should be making decisions. His policies were harsh, to the point where it became dangerous to one's health to publicly oppose him. What started as an albeit heavy-handed attempt to sway public opinion had turned into a bloody struggle for a position of power, spearheaded by the psychopathic head of a political party turned crime syndicate.

The Ukrainian government quietly called on its allies for assistance in "dealing with" their problem, similarly to the handling of the 2004 occurrence known as the Orange Revolution.

Thus, Operation "Orange Sky" was born.

Meghan tented her hands, brows bunching together, "How is the implosion plan progressing?"

Ela talked and worked simultaneously, hands moving in unseen motions, "Highlight the target list, and give me the cursor. _Dać (_ _Give (command))_."

Foster turned control of the system over to Ela, who pointed to the row of four top targets below Yuri, starting with a blond man with a patchy beard.

"Target One believes his life is in danger because of the apparent mistrust Yuri has for his motives. I have stoked this fire to the best of my ability without becoming obvious. He does not speak publically of this, but rumors spread like wildfire. Any statement from Yuri that could possibly be interpreted as aggressive in any way might set One off."

The next target was a bald man with a long scar down his face, splitting the left half of his moustache, "Target Two has seen a large amount of his money drain from his accounts, and a sizeable _enough_ trail pointing to Target Three and his people. Three has publically complained to Yuri that he does not get enough compensation, so this is sufficiently believable."

Ela paused, expression souring at the fourth target.

Samson sat up in his chair, "And the fourth target, Ms. Bozak?"

Her hair swayed to the side as she snapped to hold his gaze, "He is the one that I am most concerned with. As you know, he has been wary of me since we started, and is considerably smarter than his peers. My attempts at turning him against others were not successful. So, since our last communication, I moved on to making _him_ the odd man out."

Ela held a faded government seal and badge to the camera lens, "At Meghan's suggestion, I planted seeds of misinformation. A large number of people in Yuri's employ believe that Four has been feeding valuable information to the state. Plans, troop movements, locations of resources."

Samson chewed his lip, thumbs twirling, "So where does this leave us, Ela? Don't get me wrong, what you've done to this point is fantastic. My question is, with all of this coming to a head, what's going to kick it off?"

A calculated smirk overtook her pale face, "Today, Yuri called a meeting with the five of us, and all of the direct subordinates of the targets, to address the chaos brewing in his operation over the past weeks. The storm of accusations, implications, and fragile egos will dismantle Yuri's operation by day's end, and the state agents will take care of what remains."

The Chief Petty Officer mulled this over, face shifting from contemplation to acquiescence, "Alright, Ela. Proceed with the plan. Castellano, you good with all of this?"

Meghan nodded, shoulders relaxing, "Lookin' like our best option, Chief. She'll do that, and we'll help her exfil." She sighed, "Well, we know we're heading toward the best conclusion. Yuri's psych profile suggests that his judgment falters when his confidence is shaken, but he'll begin to act like a trapped animal when we put the screws on. I'd say we're well passed that…"

She leaned back, closing her eyes and drumming her fingers on the desk. The gears in her mind turned, and she snapped her fingers.

"Alright. Foster, update the target web with Ela's new info. Garza, I need public transit schedules and traffic conditions in Mykolaiv today. If Ela isn't going to be able to move freely amongst the people, tell us. I'm gonna start pulling all the information I can regarding the meeting location and the nearby area."

Her associates scrambled at her rapid fire instructions, and she turned to the big screen.

Meghan tapped at her keys, satellite images of the area of operation. Densely packed buildings and crowded roads littered the frame, people occupying the sidewalks.

 _Son of a bitch… they're doing this right in the middle of the city._

"Please tell me this meeting isn't at ground level…"

Ela spoke without facing the lens, "No. It is underground, in a control center for the sanitation system. As I said, the man is paranoid, so he wouldn't settle for anything more conspicuous."

Meghan dragged her hands down her face, "Well that's a pain in the ass, tech might not be consistent."

She turned to Samson, "Chief, what are the odds that we'd be able to clear the blocks surrounding the AO?"

Her commanding officer adorned a thoughtful look and clicked his tongue, "I'd have to make some calls to our friends in the Ukrainian government. Gut feeling says maybe we could manage half a klick without causing a scene, but I can't really guarantee that."

"Alright. Ask 'em, and could you see about getting me live access to the public cameras on the nearby streets?"

He scraped his chair back and stood up, "I'm sure that, at least should be doable. I'll let you know."

"Ela, make sure your LocCams, body cam, ear piece, and GPS tracker are operational. I'm gonna be with you the whole way today. We're nearly through this, so I'm not taking any chances," She raised her voice, "Keep it tight, everyone! We'll be through this by day's end!"

She stood to get more coffee, a confident glint in her eye.

"And Ela!" The Polack looked at the camera, "Don't do anything stupid."

Another smirk, "No promises, Hammer."

* * *

Foster grit her teeth, index finger drumming on the desk. The dead silence in the room exacerbated each repeated _thunk_ , grating against the ears of her compatriots.

Samson grabbed her hand and stared at her, "Would you relax? We knew we'd lose GPS tracking as soon as she went under."

Foster's eyes drilled into his, and her knee started bouncing as a result of the impediment, "Sorry, Chief, I can't help it."

Meghan shook her shoulder, "All we can do is wait, and we need to stay calm for Ela. We'll be fine."

Foster took a deep breath and nodded.

"-mer, th- is -cture, how -py?" The speakers crackled at the static.

Meghan lowered the headset microphone, "Solid copy, Fracture. We've lost your pos but we hear you well enough."

" _Dobry (_ _Good)_. Switching on body camera and setting up first LocCam."

Seconds later, two video feeds came to life, the cameras focusing on each other.

Garza blinked rapidly, "Jesus, it's like a funhouse…"

Ela began moving down the tunnel, sticking cameras to the walls as she went. Each feed was of varying resolution and clarity, with little to no rotational movement.

 _Christ, these things are terrible. Wonder if I could get one that spins…_

Meghan squinted at the monitor, panning them as far as they could swivel, "Fracture, there's a blind spot between feeds one and two, can you address it?"

"No time, Hammer, I cannot afford to be late."

Meghan swore under her breath, "Just be careful."

Other voices trickled into earshot, and Ela's camera feed showed several people standing in a cramped room filled with terminals, piping, and mold.

Garza sucked in a breath, "Those are pretty tight quarters…" The trepidation in his voice was apparent, and he too bounced his knee.

Meghan snapped her finger at Foster, "Be ready to transcribe."

She wordlessly nodded. They weren't kept waiting long before Yuri addressed the room.

* * *

" _You all know why you are here. There have been several…_ _ **unfortunate,**_ _pieces of discourse circulating throughout our organization. For the past months, I hear of nothing but lies and deceit among you and those beneath you. In addition, someone in this room has been leaking information vital to our cause to outside sources. For the sake of your continued health, I suggest someone speak up."_

The men in the room exchanged hostile glances, but the only sound that came forth was that of a constant drip from a leaking water pipe.

" _No one will speak? Then perhaps I will have to give extra motivation."_ Yuri drew his sidearm from an unseen holster, pointing the gun at the room in a sweeping motion. The men stiffened, taking a rigid step back, some sliding their hands toward their waistlines.

" _Maybe if you didn't threaten us regularly, this would not happen."_ A taller blond man drew Yuri's attention. Target One.

" _Szymon. Such bold words, do you think you could prove that? Maybe if you stupid fools were not so incompetent, I would not_ _ **have to**_ _threaten you! Perhaps you need an extra reminder?"_

A redheaded man, Target Three spoke up _, "You're going to scold_ _ **us**_ _, the ones who carry out your dirty work for you, for_ _ **your**_ _shortcomings?"_ He found the gun leveled at himself.

" _As a matter of fact, yes, Aleksander, I am. Why else would you find it necessary to steal from Kacper, after bitching to me that you do too much for too little?"_

Target Three took a step forward, pressing Yuri's gun barrel into his chest, _"You slander me so with these false accusations, why?!"_

Ela stood silently as they bickered, keeping herself near the door. Target Four rolled his eyes and heaved a weary sigh before drawing his own handgun and firing at the ceiling. Everyone's hands shot to their ears, and Meghan recoiled at the loud burst that slammed into her earpiece.

" _This is getting us nowhere, you stubborn fools. This has happened because we let it happen, we must fix this mess. Although…"_ He pointed the gun at Yuri, eliciting clicks and leather sliding against polished metal from everyone, _"I concur, that perhaps we need new leadership."_

Quivering guns pointed at everything, their owners breathing exaggeratedly. Yuri growled and yelled, _"You are all traitorous scum, the absolute worst of the Ukrainian people! Maybe I should just liquidate all of you, just like Stalin did in the second Great War!"_

Bullets every which way jumped from their chambers, carrying their own argument for debate, one of high velocity metal against the soft flesh of their targets.

The debate did not last long.

* * *

Sounds of yells of rage and pain, of rounds barking and burying themselves in concrete and person alike, of panic and resentment assaulted the speakers on Meghan's head and around the intelligence headquarters.

Foster covered her mouth. Garza chewed his nails. Samson crossed his arms, breaths barely audible. Meghan stood up, hands planted on the desk. All pairs of eyes whisked around the screen, watching the carnage unfold.

The door rattled its frame as it closed behind Ela. She turned right, making hastened strides back toward her entrance location. She looked at the shallow trench a bullet had carved in her muscle, and the intelligence room personnel took note of the blood forming a growing path on her sleeve.

"Fracture, what's your status?!"Meghan couldn't hide the stress from her voice.

" _I'm fine, Hammer. What am I looking at?"_

Meghan shook her head and straightened herself, calling the LocCam feeds to the front. She enlarged camera four's image. Armed men could be seen yelling and running toward the commotion in every feed.

"Camera four: Two tangos in the tunnel, one on each side. Double tap at your 10 and 12."

Ela rounded the corner, her sighted RG15 booming twice at the first target. The second guard jumped at the unexpected slaughter, and fumbled with his weapon before firing. A chunk of the wall exploded as she ducked behind it. Meghan pressed a button on her console, and the camera blasted white noise at the gunman. He fell to a knee in a yell, and Ela took full advantage. She stepped over him and continued on, gunfire continuing behind her. Voices yelling in front of her carried around the tunnel corner, but all she picked out was _"coming this way."_

"Hammer, they know I'm red now, fire at will."

Meghan switched to the next feed, "Camera three: three tangos, two on right at 230. Left side 11, heavy armor, aim high. Triggering burst."

She slammed the button again, the sound startling the guards on the right side. Ela turned left around the second corner, firing once into each of the guards' heads. She pulled a concussion grenade from her belt and tossed it, the blast shortly following. She turned to see the armored guard with one arm covering his face, his other firing a compact machine pistol wildly. She ended his attempt.

"Camera two: only one, crouched, at your 1130, he's got a shotgun. Firing." The gunman didn't react, save for a slight turn of the head.

It was all Ela needed.

A shift in the thumbnail feeds of the previous cameras caught Foster's attention, and she leaned in to Meghan's microphone, "Fracture, cameras four and three are showing static. Head on a swivel, you're being followed."

Ela stopped, putting a hand to her ear, "Say again, Hammer!"

Meghan saw a figure rush by the second camera and turned up the gain on her headset, "You are being followed, Fracture, turn-"

Ela reacted to the sound of a roaring yell and tried to raise her firearm. The attacker knocked her gun away in a tackle, and a swift punch to her torso broke the body camera, the lens and electronics destroyed. The two wrestled and struggled, the attacker relentlessly driving Ela into an alcove off the main tunnel path, out of the sight of the LocCams.

Blind to the situation, Meghan growled and pounded the desk, "Son a bitch!"

Animalistic snarls and incomprehensible Ukrainian words poured from the side of the cameras, punctuated by blows and grunts of pain. Meghan and her comrades sat in rapt horror as the fight went on, every tick of the clock taking what felt like years from their lives. Water splashes, someone had fallen in the water. A dull, sickening _crack_ , someone had broken something. A loud bang, then another…

Someone had gotten shot.

Seconds ticked by. Nothing, not a sound. Meghan felt something creeping into her system that she had not experienced in a long time.

 _Helplessness._ There was _nothing_ she could do, and it frustrated her to no end.

Foster and Garza looked at each other, then at their commanding officer. His eyes were glued to the display, as were Meghan's. She palmed the microphone.

"Fracture, this is Hammer, do you copy?"

 _Nothing._

"Fracture, can you hear me?!"

 _Silence._

Meghan hung her head. This mission was over.

Samson swore under his breath, "Son of a fucking bitch… Castellano, call it-"

The sound of a microphone scraping jerked them from their dazed stupor. Ragged breathing preceded labored speech.

"Hammer, this is Fracture-" Ela coughed before spitting what Meghan could only assume was blood, "-I hope you weren't looking to get rid of me that easily."

Meghan fell back into her chair, puffing her cheeks and blowing at the ceiling, "Solid copy, Fracture. Looks like we'll have to try harder next time. Thank Christ… You ready to get the hell out of there?"

Another cough, "Like you would not _believe_."

"Alright, get topside and we'll get you home. Can you walk OK?"

"Eh, it probably sounds worse than it is. _Drań (_ _Bastard)_ did a number on my face, but I paid him back my making his explode."

Meghan couldn't keep the smirk from her face, "When you get home, the first round's on me. Now get moving."

Ela did as she was told, and thirty seconds later Meghan saw a blip appear on the overhead map. She pinned the that to the left of the large screen, the other half featuring live feeds from traffic and security cameras.

A manhole cover could be seen sliding from its resting place, and Ela climbed to the surface. Clearly Samson's favor got called in, as no other people could be seen in the immediate area. Wasting no time, she replaced it and hurriedly marched toward her extraction point.

An ocular hub on a street light flickered to life as Meghan took control, "There you are-" Meghan whistled and cocked her chin, "Man, you _do_ look rough."

"Shut up, _ty głupia suko (_ _You silly bitch)_."

"Aww, that hurts my feelings, Ela." She stopped herself at the sight of the cover being disturbed a second time, three men with partially concealed weapons wriggling from the tunnels.

"Fracture, you have fans approaching your pos. Keep moving, we're gonna give these guys the runaround."

Meghan scanned the overhead view, noting a set of train tracks nearby. An idea clicked in her head and she turned to her colleagues, "Foster, get me today's schedule for Mykolaiv-Vantazhnyi Station. Garza, send the traffic map to the big screen. Chief, can you tell the boys on the ground to standby on the north end of the tracks?"

He turned to walk to the comm terminal, "Consider it done."

Foster beamed the train schedule to Meghan's HUD. She smirked, "Perfect."

She turned back to the monitor, "Alright Fracture, they've split to three different roads, trying to sweep and intercept. I've got 'em all on camera, so just listen up; they're not far behind."

Meghan hot swapped between feeds, relaying short bursts of information. _Duck into that alley, blend at the storefront, cut through that yard._ One after another they came, every callout barely allowing Ela to stay out of sight.

"Hammer, I can see the tracks!"

"Run like hell, they're almost right on top of you!"

The gunmen converged around their corners, spotting Ela and drawing their pistols to take aim. She weaved between any obstacles in her way, pulling her sidearm to shoot behind her, never breaking stride.

A horn sounded nearby, and a commercial train popped into view less than a few hundred meters out. She ducked her head and pumped her legs harder, the end in sight.

Ela stuttered her feet and launched herself over the tracks, the train crossing her trajectory just a few seconds later. She finally stopped, sucking wind and leaning her arms on her knees. She turned to see the gunmen yelling, though whether it was directed at her or the taser rounds incapacitating them, she couldn't tell as the train cars passed.

Several masked individuals bearing the insignia of the Ukrainian government closed on the men, collecting the twitching attackers and cuffing them. The final carriage cruised by, showing the would-be usurper henchmen glaring at her as they struggled in the grasp of their captors.

Her face pulled into a cocky grin, and she ignored the dull pain resulting, " _Dyakuyemo za zadovolennya, khloptsi! (_ _Thanks for the fun, boys!)_ _"_ She winked and blew them a kiss, prompting snarling howls in return.

A man wearing officer's clothing approached her, _"Operatyvnyy Bosak, chy hotovi vy pity? (_ _Operative Bosak, are you ready to leave?)_ _"_

" _Tak, davayte vyydemo zvidsy. (_ _Yes, let's get out of here)_ _"_ She walked behind him as Meghan spoke into her ear.

"You are such a showoff." Her thinly veiled pride did not go unnoticed.

"Coming from you, especially after that plan, Meghan? I must be _bad_. Now, about that drink…"

* * *

A knock on Meghan's door roused her from her reading, and she stood at attention, "Sir!"

Samson waved dismissively at her. He took a seat in a free chair and crossed one leg to rest on his knee.

"At ease. I just wanted to congratulate you on the operation, you've done a damn fine job over the past few months, spearheading this mission. It wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination, but you got the job done _well_. Not once did you waver under pressure, and you handled things better than most could've."

Meghan relaxed and sat on her bed, "Thank you, Chief, that means more than you know. I'm just thankful you gave me the chance, and after all it _is_ still your name on the report."

"Maybe so, but I was only providing insight where needed, and don't think I left anything out in detailing just how critical you were. You'll make one hell of an intel officer some day."

Samson rubbed his chin, "Speaking of which, you hear back from the folks at USC yet?"

She smiled, a full and excited smile, "I got in, Chief. In the summer, my contract will be up and I'll be headed back to SoCal."

Samson leaned forward and held out his hand, and she eagerly shook.

"You'll do great there, I know it."

She rubbed her arm, "I owe a lot to you, and Foster and Garza."

He chuckled, "Nah, you would've done just fine without us. It's hard to say what exactly qualifies an intelligence specialist, but I know you already have it. All you need's the fancy piece of paper."

Meghan scoffed, "For most people, the most expensive one they'll ever get. Thank God for the GI Bill."

"Ain't that the truth," He clapped his hands, "Alright, just wanted to check in. Have a good evening, Meghan. See you tomorrow morning."

"Good night, Chief."

Samson closed the door behind him as he left. She couldn't keep the stupid grin from her face. Meghan's expression lit up the room at the mere thought of the opportunities ahead of her, and she allowed herself a contented sigh. She found her skin to be tingling, her body shivering from excitement.

Meghan shook her head, short hair swishing. She slid her bookmark into her current spot in the novel and closed it, laying the book on her nightstand. With a flick of a switch, the light in the room was extinguished, and she pulled her thick blankets up to her chin, closing her eyes for well-deserved sleep.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The longest chapter to this point by far! I had a lot of fun thinking it up and writing the events, not to mention the dynamic between Meghan and Ela! Hopefully it was enjoyable to read! It was hard trying to make everything believable, given that our two leading ladies are in their very early twenties at this time, so let me know what you think!


	11. Deus Vult

**August 29, 2011**

A light breeze blew into the room, dancing to a carefree rhythm with the curtains caressing the white-trimmed window. This way and that, they sailed gracefully with each renewed gust. After leaving the colored fabric fluttering through the air, it moved to find a new partner, finding solace in the sheets of the nearby bed. Rushing air lifted them up, unheard music causing them to soar ever upwards.

Meghan stirred at the feeling of her covering being disturbed, the cool air caressing her skin. She willed her eyes open and yawned softly, turning to look at the clock on her nightstand.

 **7:59**

A hum left her, sliding to the edge of the mattress and flicking a switch on the device before it could begin its incessant screeching. Meghan tossed the sheet to the side and sat up, before standing and taking a moment to revel in a prolonged stretch as her nude form adjusted to the coolness of the room. She pushed herself up and onto the balls of her feet as her muscles flexed and relaxed, sending a jolt through every fiber.

Meghan made her way to the bathroom, chancing a look into the mirror. A tired face sitting under disheveled blonde hair stared back, eliciting a grunt before she pulled the shower curtain back and started up the water. Once it got to an adequately nearly-skin-scalding temperature, she threw herself in.

A contented sigh pushed past her lips as the jets of water massaged her skin. Her mind clouded over as the streams gently, yet purposefully cleansed her, sending a calming pulse through her system. Meghan wet her hair, running her fingers through the strands in an effort to appease the rebellious creature. In the current moment, the faint smell of cinnamon and the fruity soaps made this the most relaxing atmosphere she could imagine.

Years in the military had taught Meghan to be expedient about taking showers, her mind nagging her to wrap it up after ten minutes of basking in the mingling of sensory pleasures. Cutting the water, Meghan shivered at the sudden loss of heat and quickly toweled herself off while standing next to the cute little wall socket heater she picked up last week.

 _So worth the thirty dollars._

She opened the door, skirting out of the room as swiftly as the steam she'd been keeping as company.

Soft footsteps padded toward the chest of drawers against the far wall, taking care to be quiet as she opened them. A voice coming from the bed told her she needn't have bothered.

"Don't put that on just yet, the view from back here is too good to cover up."

Meghan scoffed, eyes rolling in her head, "Such a charmer, David."

"What can I say, babe, that ass had to have been sculpted by God himself."

She tossed an amused grin over her shoulder before slipping into a sports bra and pulling a navy blue tank top over her head, " _God_ had nothing to do with it, honey. That's years of hard work you're drooling over. Speaking of, wash your pillowcase, you slob."

David propped his head on his left hand, "Your wish is my command…" He watched her step into a pair of underwear, eyes following with spellbound attention as dark, lacy fabric slid along flawless sun-kissed skin, "…my queen."

Meghan giggled before turning and ambling to the bed, "Good boy."

She bent down and kissed him, feeling his hand cup her cheek in an almost reverent fashion. Seconds later, it became emboldened and skated along her skin toward her chest.

Meghan smacked it away and pulled from him, "Uh uh, no sir. I _just_ put these on. I need to get ready."

David uttered a whine, "Come on, Meg, just real quick. You don't have to leave so soon."

She shook her head and pushed him back onto the mattress, returning to the cabinet.

"Says you. I am not going to be late on the first day of classes. You should be getting ready too, mister."

A short "wah" was all she got in return as she pulled on a pair of black form-fitting pants.

As Meghan laced up her boots, David uttered an exaggerated sigh, "Sometimes I wake up and wonder how I got so lucky…"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep the grin from her face, "You are such a dork."

"I'm being serious, Meg! My friends are super jealous. Greg even asked where he could get one."

Meghan turned to him, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk lighting up her features, "I hope you told them that there's only one of me in the world. I can't imagine there are too many other hot military chicks around falling for software guys with D&D addictions."

David snorted before bringing a hand to chest, "You wound me, madam!" His voice was thick with mock hurt, "Though I can't say you're wrong. It helps that you're older, too, some guys are into that. Adds an extra layer of accomplishment."

A wicked gleam appeared in Meghan's eye. _This should be fun._

She leaned back and frowned, retaining the posture she held moments ago, "Did I hear that right, David? Am I only a _trophy_ to you? A rare achievement for you to gloat about to your little friends?"

His eyes widened, "N-No, babe of course not, I-"

"And did you call me _old_ on top of that?" She walked forward and placed her hands on the bed, glaring at him.

David sat himself up, wringing his hands together, "I didn't- I mean, I wasn't trying to say that-"

Meghan flicked his nose and chuckled, his panicked expression giving her cruel enjoyment, "Relax, hon. I'm just messin' with you, I take that as a compliment."

The color returned to his face, and he sucked in worried breaths as he laughed, "You're so mean… but I'm okay with that."

She turned to the mirror on the wall, giving herself a final once-over, "Anyway, I'll be back later tonight. After capstone I'm going to the ROTC class to talk to the cadets, so if you would be so kind as to start dinner a bit later, I would appreciate it."

"Right, you got it, Meg. Hey, good luck; they'll be lucky to hear from you. "

She kissed him once more. Immediately after, she shoved David off the bed and spun around, grabbing her keys, power bar, and bag before heading to leave. Meghan swung the door closed as she yelled back to him.

"Love you!"

He groaned at the ceiling.

* * *

To Meghan's lack of surprise, the atmosphere in the semester's first capstone seminar was subdued at best. Baggy clothes, thermoses of coffee, and drooping eyes could be seen at every other seat in the tiny amphitheater-style classroom.

Something that always baffled Meghan was how infrequently most learning establishments made an attempt to make their classrooms engaging. Obviously going so far as putting flashing lights or setting fish tanks in the walls would be detrimental, but having dingy lighting in buildings complete with the color pallet of bedrock and dilapidated, fifteen year old furniture certainly doesn't _stimulate_ the brain.

In such cases when the learning environments themselves siphon all energy from its occupants, it falls to the instructor to keep their students engaged. The professor was certainly _trying_ to do this, with varying degrees of success. She'd introduced herself as Mary Knowles, a forty-something year old – if Meghan had to guess – woman of above average height and build, flowing reddish-brown hair draped over her shoulders like a fine shawl. Her brilliant red form-fitting blouse stood out among the drab background like a flare, subconsciously calling the attention of one's eyes without any spoken words.

Not like she was bad at _speaking_ , though.

The woman's voice carried the authoritative undertones of someone who was upbeat and understanding, but knew when to apply appropriate correction. The experience she brought to the table was evident in the way she presented herself, despite only having started to go over what the students could expect in the coming months. Mercifully, she skipped the ever-present icebreaking activity, under the assumption that the students knew each other to some degree already, and that she would learn about them over time. As such, Meghan found herself drawn to her seminar professor already, reminded of some of her more memorable superiors in the Navy.

Mary paused, checking her watch, "Alright, I can tell that I'm starting to lose some of you, and I've said what I need to for this first session. Read over the handouts, and start thinking about what you think you can do. Prepare a short proposal for Wednesday based on the criteria in the syllabus. Have a good day, everyone!"

Notebooks and pens closed, bags shuffled, quiet murmurs spread amongst the students. Meghan sat through it, waiting for a lane to clear in her aisle, and shouldered her own bag when the room and mostly emptied. She made her way to the front of the room, where Mary switched off the projector hanging from the ceiling. Her footsteps caused the professor to hesitate and look up, a smile forming on her face.

"Ahh… Meghan, was it?" She extended a hand, and Meghan firmly grasped and shook.

"That's right. I wanted to formally introduce myself, and pick your brain a bit, if that's alright."

Mary leaned back against a table, fingers curled around the wooden slab, "Certainly! Whatcha got?"

Meghan crossed her arms in a relaxed stance, "What got you into this? You strike me as a pretty smart cookie, and I'm thinking you could've gotten a higher profile job. So why teach a senior communications course, a capstone seminar in particular?"

Mary chewed her cheek, jaw setting, as she looked directly into Meghan's eyes, "That's a bit of an interesting topic. Tell me something first, Meghan. Why do _you_ think I'm here?"

She shrugged, "The usual 'looks good on a resume' and 'wanted to broaden my horizons' answers don't really fit. They might still be applicable, but they'd be more like a secondary goal, rather than a primary driver. If I had to guess, you wanted to be a sort of gatekeeper for those about to receive degrees."

The professor beamed at her, giving a low whistle, "Damn, that was pretty impressive. You're very perceptive, just about spot on with your assessment! Throughout my adult life, I've noticed that at least half of the major problems that occur in industry and journalism because of a lack of proper _communication_. I've seen it firsthand, and felt what it's like to get burned by it. My goal is to send people into the field with the proper skillset to create a more well-informed environment-"

Mary stopped herself, realizing she'd left her position at the desk and gestured wildly as she spoke. She chuckled, cheeks reddening, and rubbed the back of her neck at Meghan's bemused smirk.

"Anyway, you get the point. But I'm curious about you. Between you being a bit older and your clearly honed abilities, I'd say you've seen some relevant experience. Am I right?"

Meghan nodded, "You could say that. I was an intelligence specialist with the Navy, and I'm here to get a degree so I can keep moving up."

If Mary was surprised, she hid it well, "I'm not all that shocked, but I thank you for your service regardless. Though, I get the feeling there's more to it. Active duty doesn't last forever, and I'm fairly certain you know that. What comes next?"

Meghan found herself nodding in mild awe; clearly her professor was no slouch. She couldn't help but respect the woman more.

"That's actually what I wanted to get your opinion on. Now, obviously, you don't know me or what I'm like just yet, but you know that I'm military, and that I'm a cut above most of my peers – _and I'm not afraid to say it_."

Mary chuckled, but did not interrupt.

"After all is said and done, I was considering becoming a war correspondent. I've been where the soldiers are, physically and psychologically, and I imagine I'll be there again. I want to tell a story, the _real_ story, of what things are like for deployed persons. Having the perspective of someone that can relate to them, I think, could only be better."

As the student spoke, the teacher placed a hand on her chin and considered the set of constants and variables in front of her. A thoughtful pause followed, and Meghan waited patiently.

"Another question for you. All of what you've told me certainly gives you the edge, and I don't doubt your conviction. But, in your own words, what would put you above and beyond the rest, worth hiring more than someone else?"

Meghan saw what she was doing, and carefully considered her response, "By the time I get to that stage in my life, I plan to have made a name for myself. But the thing is, I'm not chasing fame, I'm pursuing recognition – not just for myself, but for every young woman behind me," She struck her open palm with a fist, "There has been, and will continue to be, a push for women to join the STEM fields. That's fine, there's plenty of mileage in that. I'm trying to prove that it doesn't stop there, that we can do _anything_. If I show that, even after I retire from a notable active service, I'm still willing to charge into the fight for my team and tell the full, unfiltered truth…"

Meghan looked to the floor, then directly into Mary's eyes, a fire burning in her gaze. Her stance straightened, and she subconsciously clasped her hands behind her back.

" _That's_ what will set me apart, Mary."

The redhead leaned against the podium, arms bent to support her head as she watched with an enraptured admiration.

"I must admit, you _fascinate_ me, Meghan. I think you and me will get along just fine, and I look forward to helping you reach that goal."

Mary presented her hand again, but this time, the two women shook with a combined aura rivaling a pride of lions.

* * *

 **A/N:** **So we see a glimpse of Meghan's college life. What a lovely time, eh? Hopefully you enjoyed this little sojourn back into the civilian life, because the second part is coming soon! All the best!**


	12. Lead, Follow, or Move

**August 29, 2011**

Meghan peered through the plexiglass window of the door to the small classroom. A uniformed man inside looked up from his papers, checking his watch before waving her in. She pushed the door open and slid the doorstop under it. A chief petty officer insignia rested on the man's sleeve, proudly displayed as he smiled and stood to greet her.

Meghan saluted, "Chief Petty Officer Peters, Petty Officer First Class Castellano reporting," she failed to hide her sarcastic smile.

The older African American man laughed, his deep voice resonating around the room, "At ease, Castellano, you're a civvy for the time being. And besides, I know damn well that you're not for formalities when it isn't needed."

A glint shone in his eye, "Samson gave me an idea what to expect."

She shifted, cocking her head, "You- you know Samson, sir?"

His chest rumbled again, "Oh yes, we've known each other for a lot of years. He's been a friend of mine since we got deployed to Stuttgart together, and he's mentioned you _more_ than once."

Meghan exhaled shakily, "I won't lie to you, sir, I'm a little surprised at that."

"You shouldn't be. From everything I've seen in your record and heard from others, you will most certainly be a top candidate for an enlisted officer position, probably sooner rather than later. Your work in Orange Sky, especially, was some high grade stuff, believe me. It's a big reason I was eager accept your request to visit with us today."

She regained her composure, taking a seat on the table at the front of the room, "I'm flattered, sir."

He offered a hand, which she readily accepted, "Please, call me Andrew."

She nodded, and Andrew continued, "Samson also told me that you have quite a lofty goal, but he wouldn't say what it was, wanted you to be the one to tell me."

Meghan crossed her arms, "He did, huh? Well, he wasn't exaggerating. I'm determined to become the first female admitted into the SEALs."

She waited, expecting a disapproving look or snide remark. Instead, Andrew nodded and pondered the idea.

"Lofty indeed."

Again, Meghan found herself off-balance, "So…do you have anything to say about that, sir?"

He smacked his lips, "I won't lie to you, that will be one hell of an undertaking. I know a few guys who tried to get in the SEALs, some of the best men I'd ever seen in the uniform. The training program is no joke, and it'll run you into the ground if you're not prepared. You'll be required to go through the most intense mental and physical tests of your life. It can break you, if you let it."

The teeth on her mental gears ground together, friction wearing on them once again. For the sake of _who_ was saying that it would be difficult now, Meghan held her posture.

Andrew raised a single finger, "But! But… your service record thus far speaks to an exceptional mental fortitude, and you're in outstanding shape. So, if any female has a real shot at doing it, you'd have my vote."

There it was. The much-needed coolant left the valve, flooding onto every hot spot in her mind's machine. Meghan heaved a measured sigh, a number of responses cycling through her head.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, sir- ah, Andrew."

He put on a lopsided smile, "I look forward to you proving me right."

A third and fourth person entered the room, with several other voices becoming louder from around the corner. Andrew raised a hand in a wave to the cadets before turning back to Meghan. Quiet conversation continued among the newcomers in their assigned Navy Working Uniforms.

"So, do you plan to become a regular for us, here? I could think of a few lessons that you'd be a good aide for."

Meghan hummed, "Well, it'll depend on my schedule as time goes on, but I'd be more than willing to-"

A sharp wolf whistle ripped everyone's attention to the newest person, standing in the doorway. A shorter, dark haired male swaggered to an open seat, uncaringly tossing his gear toward the wall. Meghan's eyes narrowed as her lips tightened. CPO Peters visibly ground his teeth, harsh stare heating the air around him.

"Well, well, well! Now _who_ do we have here! No one mentioned there would be an absolute _babe_ gracing us today. You must be new, how's it goin' chica?"

 _Now_ _ **this**_ _will be fun._

Andrew's lower jaw shifted in a barely controlled anger, opening his mouth to level some choice words. Meghan touched his arm, raising her other hand to placate him before striding forward. She stopped on the other side of the long table from her newest prey. In an instant, her demeanor changed completely – she raised her voice and added a distinct lilt, arms placed delicately behind her back, hips lightly swaying. A cursory glance at his name patch gave the target identity.

"You're right, Adams, I _am_ new here. I don't know many people yet, and I was just introducing myself to Chief Petty Officer Peters, over there. Let me introduce myself to you all, too." She looked to the floor, fingers tapping together in an apparent nervous tick. Cadet Adams leaned forward in his seat, cocky grin on his face.

Meghan dropped the façade faster than a hot iron, snapping her legs together and assuming a crisp stance.

"My name is _Petty Officer First Class_ Meghan Castellano. I'm an active duty veteran on leave to get my degree before transitioning into a future role as a naval intelligence officer. I've seen deployment overseas, and taken part in several high profile missions involving international politics and stability."

She caught several of the cadets looking around; from Peters, to each other, to Adams. The target in question shifted in his seat, eyes becoming wider with every word as his brows knitted inwards.

 _Good, you need to learn early._

"As such, I've seen and _will_ see more than most of you will in your entire service careers. I have very little patience for those who project attitudes detrimental to the situation, including both combat and intra-unit communication settings. I am here with you today to provide insight into my experiences, as well as to be a resource for you all to come to, aside from CPO Peters. In addition, I will be joining the Chief Petty Officer in future lessons to give my input as needed."

She paused, scanning the room like a patrolling sentry. Settling on Adams, she placed her hands on the table.

"Any further questions, _Cadet?_ "

He scrambled to attention, knocking the chair to the floor, and saluted, "N-no ma'am!"

Meghan flashed a smirk, easing off the gas pedal, "Good. Now, I believe Andrew has a wonderful class prepared for you all, and I would _hate_ for any further interruptions to delay that. Chief?"

She stepped back toward the corner, sweeping her arm toward the man. He snickered and shook his head, eyes closed.

"I hope you enjoyed that little preface from our guest. Adams, we will discuss your liberal interpretation of proper etiquette _later_. Now, to the lot of you, welcome to your first Navy ROTC lecture…"

* * *

A weary sigh left Meghan's lungs as she shut the door of her apartment. The scent of searing seasoned meat caressed her face, wrapping her senses in a soft blanket of bliss. She inhaled, savoring every smell as they mingled and danced around her.

She projected her voice around the corner, "Sup babe!"

Meghan tossed her bag vaguely in the direction of her desk and gave a relieved sigh, stepping into the kitchen. David stood at range, crafting a perfect meal.

He turned to her and smiled, "Evening, beautiful. How was your day?"

She leaned against the counter, "Pretty sweet. Got to know my capstone professor and the Chief running the ROTC class. Even got the chance to yell at someone in the class today,"

David chuckled and shook his head, "-and talked to the Chief about the SEALs." Meghan finished.

His expression faltered, hands stopping briefly before resuming their task, "And what did he think about that?"

Meghan shrugged, "That he thinks I've got a shot. Couldn't let me go without mentioning how next to impossible it is, but he gave me the vote of confidence, so that was good enough."

"You believe him?" David spoke without looking at her.

She glared at him through narrowed eyes, annoyance swimming in them like angry sharks, "And what do _you_ have to say about that, David?"

"Well, you know what I think, hon. I'm worried that you'll end up killing yourself over this, with nothing to show for it." He _still_ wouldn't meet her eyes.

She had to respect his willingness to stand on the table and voice his true opinion, rather than stammer out some half-baked answer while beating around the bush.

Which is why it just _broke her heart_ that the table he chose to root himself on was rapidly approaching those same sharks.

Meghan screwed her eyes shut, grinding her teeth and pushing hot air from her nose, "I would _really_ rather not have this conversation again. I don't think either of us would like where it would go."

She grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn toward her, "Is this going to be a problem, David? You've known from the very start how things would be with me. You chose to stay. You chose to support me, or so I thought."

Doubt flickered on David's face like a broken reel, "I do, it's just-"

"I've heard the doubts and questions for a long time. Every time, I've proven them wrong. I don't want this from you, too, but don't think I won't move on if you're going to try to hold me back."

At some point the venom dissolved, and the sincerity in her voice that shocked David; he'd never seen this from her before.

He took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'm willing to put my hesitations aside, because you're worth it."

Meghan smiled softly at her boyfriend, and drew him in for a kiss.

"But, Meg, you'll have to make the baked corn."

She pulled back, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead, "Why must you burden me so?"

They laughed together, worries dissipating into the night like the steam in the kitchen.

* * *

 **A/N: So we've seen a glimpse into Meghan's time in college between tours. I elected not to show some of the more mundane events in the first three years. After all, she does deserve a couple unremarkable times too. Next up is her return to the Navy, let me know what you thought!**


	13. Catharsis

**February 15, 2013**

Wisps of smoke drifted in the air, leisurely cycling from corner to corner along the path given to it by the vents. An unknown rock song filtered through an aged set of speakers above the jukebox, soft light glowing from the music player. The windows accumulated moisture along the edges, warm air from the inside worming its way through the cracks in the sealant in an effort to escape the cold outside.

A crack sounded from down the bar. Meghan's neck swiveled toward the sound, gaze fixing on the ceramic balls bouncing along the felt surface of the pool table. She turned her attention back to the glass of whiskey in front of her, swirling the ice around before taking a sip. The liquid bit at her tongue, and she pushed an exhale through her nose as she swallowed. The red tinted tubing lights on the walled spelled something she couldn't read.

The door swung inwards, howling wind shoving the metal frame against the wall. The worn bell jingled incessantly until the newcomer shoved the door closed again. Meghan did not look away from the wall, keeping her stare until the barstool next to her creaked.

" _Nie byłem pewien, czy przyjdziesz (I wasn't sure if you would come),_ " Meghan spoke before knocking back the remainder of her glass. The bartender wordlessly took it and replaced its contents. She spun to her side, eyes running up and down her guest.

"Really diggin' the new look. Just screams 'middle school drama queen.'"

Ela rolled her eyes, and pointed to the glass in front of Meghan when the bartender asked what she wanted. Her green-dyed hair, shorter than Meghan remembered it, shone in the light of the overhead lamps.

"I see the years have not changed your sense of humor."

Meghan waited, but when a follow-up didn't come she turned back to her own drink.

Minutes passed with no conversation until Meghan tilted her chin at her compatriot, "The years don't appear to have been kind to _you_."

Ela hummed and drank from her glass. When she put it down, half the whiskey remained.

"You would be right." Again, she left the short statement alone.

Meghan sighed, reaching into her back pocket. She retrieved a pack of cigarettes and pulled one from the box, offering it to Ela. Her eyes shifted from it, to Meghan, and back to the stick of tobacco, before taking it between her fingers. Meghan flicked open a lighter and sparked it. She held it to the cigarette before sheathing the chrome plated tinderbox and setting it aside, next to the pack.

Ela took a long drag, closing her eyes as the smoke filled her lungs, and exhaled, "Didn't know you smoked."

Meghan gave a dry chuckle, "Didn't know you did, either. Honestly, there's probably quite a few things we don't know about each other."

Another pull, the filter glowing orange, "I suppose so. Such is life, when two people spend so long apart."

Meghan's fingers curled, briefly digging into her palm. She leaned her elbow on the bar, looking fully at Ela, "You talk like we hardly knew each other. We weren't strangers, a few years back. Sure, we weren't exactly sending each other Christmas cards, but I got used to hearing from you every now and again. Then you basically dropped off the face of the earth!"

Not once did Ela turn to her, switching between whiskey and cigarette with reckless purpose.

"How did you find me?"

It wasn't a question so much as it was a demand, laced with ice and short on patience.

Meghan shifted on her seat, "Your sister-"

Ela ripped off a growl, animal and _angry_ , "Always forcing her way into my life, no matter the point in our lives. You would think she has better things to do."

Meghan set down her glass, resting her arm on the bar, "She was worried about you-"

"She puts up a convincing façade. I've seen it before." She snapped at Meghan, biting the words off with as much force as she could muster.

" _I_ was worried about you-"

Ela rolled her eyes and scoffed before pulling another drag on the cigarette. She huffed, refusing to look at Meghan.

"Why are you so hostile towards her all the time, and why are you so short with me right now?"

Ela's head snapped to meet Meghan's gaze so violently that it made her neck hurt, "Because what I am _now_ is different than I was when you knew me!" The bartender looked to the two women, wiping a glass in the meanwhile.

"My life is different than it was, and it will never again be like what I had before. Zofia only ever seems to twist whatever knife finds itself buried in me with her judgmental scolding. I know she does not mean it to be like that, but she knows that her meddling bothers me, and she never makes an effort to change."

The outburst had drawn the attention of the bar patrons, until a fiery glare from Meghan persuaded them to resume their activities. When she looked back to her accomplice, she found that Ela had resumed her focus-drained stare at the bar's stock of liquor.

"If you didn't want to be found, by me or anyone else, then why even meet me here?"

The prolonged silence that followed nearly convinced Meghan that Ela didn't hear her, but she was determined to allow her friend the time to think about her answer. Finally, Ela spared Meghan a look, one she held while speaking, and Meghan could see the shimmering moisture lining her eyes.

"Maybe I wanted a bit of my old life back."

It was Meghan's turn to be at a loss for words. Her gaze softened, shoulders sagging, "What happened to you?"

A pause, as Ela put down the nearly-empty glass, "After our operation in Ukraine, I returned to the PMC in Iraq that I was taking jobs from. It was fulfilling work, work that I learned from. I was _happy_. But, a few months later, I learned that my father had taken his own life."

Meghan leaned back, silently stammering as she searched for the right words, "That's fucking horrible, I'm so sorry… but, I'm confused, I thought you hated your dad? Something about playing favorites?"

Ela's glass was swiftly collected and refilled, and she nodded at the barkeep. The filter on her smoke burned orange.

"Yes, well… I have always tried to make him proud. As a child I would try to outdo the other children at everything, and as a teenager I would beg him to take me to the firing range to prove I could handle a gun. He never showed extra outward affection for my efforts. It frustrated me greatly, but I vowed to make him smile with pride, even if just once. Now I'll never get the chance-"

Her voice cracked on the last word. A tear splashed on the scarred wood as Meghan watched on with pursed lips. Ela swiped at her cheek with a sleeve and her head lightly.

"All I can do now is try to make amends after the fact, but that serves only me. And, the real trouble is, it doesn't even make me feel better..." She trailed off, staring at the teardrop. In one motion she balled her fist and slammed it on the bar.

"I hate myself for being so weak. I wish you were not seeing me like this."

She felt a hand rest on her now stinging hand, and spared a glance at the source of the sensation. Meghan stayed as she was for a minute, maybe more, she couldn't tell. No words left Ela's mouth.

"You are anything but weak. I've seen enough to know that isn't true. Everyone gets the occasional crack in the armor; it's how we deal with it that defines us. What you're going through is normal, and you shouldn't be ashamed. I've been through similar things when the situation with my dad comes up."

Meghan removed her hand, but remained fixed on her friend as a storm of telegraphed thoughts flashed across Ela's face. A shuddering exhale left her.

"So what _have_ you been up to?"

Ela took a deep breath, collecting herself, "I joined with my father's unit, the GROM, as a civilian. They contacted me some time after his death, apparently Orange Sky grabbed the attention of more than just your government. I've been working as something of an interrogator, pulling information from people who would rather I didn't."

Meghan's lips tugged into a smile, "I don't know about you, but I'd say that's a pretty good start at patching things up with your father. Living his work, helping your country."

A shrug from Ela, "Maybe. I can only hope."

She paused to drink, "Tell me about your last couple years, Meghan."

She hummed as she crossed her legs, "Well, I took leave from the Navy to go to college. Spent four years there studying communications, earned a fancy certificate to show for it. I'll be starting SEAL training in a couple months, but in the interim they stationed me at Redzikowo," Meghan took a swig of whiskey, "'S why I decided to look you up."

Ela stared at her, unspoken thoughts joining the smoke in the air, "I would say your years have been far superior to mine."

Meghan huffed, "It isn't a contest, Ela, everyone's got their own mountains to climb. Your life isn't any less worthy than mine, not by a long shot."

Ela couldn't stop her eyebrows from knitting together as a wary look crossed her features, "Why are you trying so hard to cheer me up, what does it get you?" Her words had the same frigid edge she'd used before, and Meghan adjusted her approach.

"I'm doing it because you're my _friend_. Even if you weren't, we were comrades, teammates. You get to be happy too, you know."

She turned back toward the bar, and the two entered a silence that, despite its length, held the most comfortable air of the night. Ela extended her glass in an outstretched hand, and Meghan clinked hers with it before they drank to the bottom.

"You will make a great SEAL."

"And you will make a great GROM agent."

Wood banged into ceramic as a pool player broke a formation of balls, pulling their awareness to the table.

"Hey," Meghan lightly slapped Ela's forearm, "wanna go hustle those guys for all they're worth?"

A predatory grin beamed beneath hooded eyes, "You read my mind, Meghan."

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter wasn't originally planned when I first drew up the outline, but it was suggested to me by a little bird (shoutout to Precursor), and I loved the idea! So, here we are - an aside before Meghan's jump into BUD/S training, in which we explore the friendship between Ela and our blonde MC. These two could potentially have so much rich story to see, and I had so much fun putting it in writing! Hope you enjoyed!**


	14. Baptism by Fire

**May 18, 2013**

A low hum buzzed in Meghan's ears, occasionally punctuated by looped monotone voices over the airport intercom. Passing pedestrians in varying amounts of thermal clothing carried on idle conversation, ignoring the sea of faces around them.

Meghan yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and rubbing her eyes with her wrist. She fought sleep with each passing moment, regretting the redeye flight she had to catch to get to her destination in time. A flash of pink amongst the endless stream of black suitcases caught her eye, and she swiped hers from the motorized belt. She made a mental note to thank Coach Jackson and the team, all these years later.

 _Can't believe I gave them shit for getting me this. Say what you want about the rainbow unicorn, it stands out in a crowd._

She strolled through the wide halls and causeways, with an exuded purpose that made others swerve to avoid _her_. The journey had not been made idly, and Meghan would waste no time in the day. Turning a corner, she stepped into the designated pickup area and scanned the waiting faces. An older woman stared intently at the door with her husband, a pair of girls giggled at something on their phones, men in sharp suits read this morning's news.

Her eyes settled on a russet-haired woman in smart business casual, leaning against the wall with her hands stuffed in her pockets. Meghan smiled tiredly and made her way around the benches to take the outstretched hand.

"Thank you for having me, Dr. Melnikova."

* * *

Meghan spoke candidly with Lera, as she insisted on being called, during the trip to Novosibirsk State University. She asked the Lera just how she had obtained a doctorate at such a young age, and how she had arrived at the line of work she had chosen to align herself with. The good doctor turned out to be a woman of few words, but was surprisingly blunt about her past - rowing up in the looming shadow of the Chernobyl disaster, mistakes of a dead nation weighing on her family like a lead blanket. Lera's diagnosis had done nothing to dampen the drive she possessed, in some ways even fueling it to defeat the sins of the past.

Meghan could certainly relate to _that_.

The door clicked shut, sealing off the lobby of the research lab from the outside air. Few people populated the sterile halls, the clicking of shoe heels the only sound permeating the air as they passed room after room. Meghan felt compelled to speak before she lost her mind.

"Did they tell you why I came all the way here for this?"

Lera turned to look at Meghan, keeping her relaxed pace, " _Nyet_. I assume it must be for a very good reason, because my research is not exactly common knowledge. It surprised me greatly when the General Secretary informed me that I would be testing the second round of my creation, and a heavily modified one at that, on an _American_. I almost asked if he was joking with me, but Russian politicians wouldn't know a joke if it pissed in their vodka."

Meghan did a double take, "Second?"

"You Americans have a saying, 'don't get high on your own supply?' I do not follow that rule."

The gears clicked in Meghan's head, "So you have a personal investment in the success of this 'supply,' then."

"It is why I was so quick to accept. This isn't the Soviet Union anymore, so 'willing' test subjects are not normally coming to _me_." She held a badge up to a black square reader on the wall, pushing the door open after a short beep.

Meghan hummed, "Well if it makes you feel better, I can act like a prisoner and bitch about my living conditions… comrade."

Lera chuckled, but said nothing.

The lab was relatively bare, consisting of a few benches, a rolling cart, and a chair. On the cart were a number of vials and beakers, alongside an intravenous tube and a powered pump. Meghan passed into the room, skin bristling at the temperature-controlled environment. Lera gestured at the chair in the center.

"You know you will be dependent on the nanides from today onwards, yes? After using the treatment for the months of your training, you will not simply be able to stop. Regular doses will be required. Finally, you are _not_ to use the injector more than once in sixty seconds; the rush will do damage to your major organs." She spoke in a low voice, devoid of humor.

Meghan had been afraid of that. She would be forced to make Lera's science project an integral piece of her very basic life functions. Could she do that? The rest of her service career would hinge on the continued effectiveness of the nanides, if they even worked at all. Meghan heaved a pronounced sigh.

 _I did_ _ **not**_ _come this far to quit now._

She cracked her knuckles, "I'm ready."

"Then let us begin."

* * *

 **August 16** **th** **, 2013**

In her college days, Meghan would often hear people complain about their workload. With each passing semester she would notice the trend of the low drone of student whining getting progressively louder, until it reached a sound so resonant with the state of her sanity, she sometimes wondered if she might snap.

If only they could experience anything like _this_.

She'd arrived at the Naval Special Warfare Preparatory School in Great Lakes, Illinois just over eight weeks ago. Before she'd even gotten the chance to take off her coat, they'd shuffled her into the medical quarters for an assessment. Her file raised more than a few eyebrows, but they asked no questions before stamping her record and shunting her to a bunk. The very next day she started a physical training regimen and had several novels on various topics shoved into her hands.

Falling back into the regular clockwork-like system was almost relaxing; in a way she'd missed the fully planned and standardized itinerary of pure, unfiltered _training._ What she was being told to do wasn't entirely new to her, but it was elevated to a degree she hadn't seen in typical Naval routine. For weeks on end she ran, swam, and performed group calisthenics. When she wasn't grinding away at the track and the pool, she was absorbing a payload curriculum from a machine gun loaded with knowledge, personal conduct, and the very essence of SEAL ethos.

Meghan watched her classmates as time went on. In her years, she knew the signs of one losing their will. She'd seen it before, and she was seeing it again, even before the modified physical screening test, on which everyone's graduation hinged. And here she was, standing next in line to take said test. Her dream would live or die within the next hour.

She checked the strap on her arm brace, tightening the delivery mechanism for the nanides. Lera told her that the doses would trickle into her system at a modest pace, but the initial burst would still be intense. At the shout of the instructor, she clicked the trigger. A sharp inhale followed as her vision went blue, and her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she dove.

Time lost its relative hold on Meghan as she swam, the provided fins slicing through the water like a knife through fruit with relentless efficiency. Her muscles pumped repeatedly, propelling her hallway through the thousand-yard slog with nary a thought. Briefly the memories of the pool at her school flashed in her mind, but she ejected them as quickly as a bullet from a firing chamber.

She pulled herself from the water and tossed away the fins before dropping to the floor for the push-ups segment. The timer in her head silently ticked on as she fired off as many as she could within two minutes.

 _Seventy-eight will do._

Meghan ran to the raised bar tying two concrete pillars together and hoisted herself up. She pushed a grunt through clenched teeth with every determined lift, doing her best to mentally ignore the sensation of fatigue seeping into her core. Fourteen pull-ups later, she dropped from the bar and assumed a lying position on the rubber mat in the next area. The next two minutes saw her curling her torso upwards with a relative per two second pace, keeping her center of gravity pinned to the spot. A whistle blew, and she slowly pushed herself to a standing stance, hands on her hips. She sucked in air, feeling the chemical cocktail surging through her veins.

After a brief rest, water break, and time spent donning her gear, she took to the track. The physical ramifications of this gauntlet of ability and resolve were starting to take their toll, but Meghan would not be denied. She was a flaming arrow, searing all it touched, not to be stopped until it met its mark. She'd practiced for this for nearly twenty years, and the end to this tunnel was in sight.

Four miles, and twenty eight and a half minutes later, she was on the grass, panting like mad, but with an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. It was done, finally over. With each passing minute Meghan's body turned to what felt like lead, the nanides finishing their delivery and dissolving, fully.

Her head lolled to the side while she watched people complete the test, most dropping on their asses and doing the same thing she was, afterwards. The following hours were either a springboard or a trapdoor for the ultimate ambitions of the class of SEAL cadets, and everyone got their orders for the future. When all was said and done, half of the initial class remained. Some were sent home.

Meghan was not.

Stage One done.

* * *

 **October 3** **rd** **, 2013**

The phrase "hell week" held multiple meanings. To a college student, it meant the week of final exams and projects coming to a head. To a Navy hopeful, it meant the most grueling stretch of physical and mental prowess many recruits will have ever seen.

To SEAL candidates, the first two are morning's breakfast.

Meghan spent weeks doing organized team drills, swimming and doing water exercises with varying levels of weight, and running that goddamned obstacle course more times than she'd gone to sleep in recent memory. She was positive that she'd be seeing that ramped bar ladder for fucking _years_ in her dreams.

This was worse.

It's impossible to know what being awake for 85 of the previous 88 hours is like until one has lived it. An experience Meghan thought was saved for those in hell itself. Her face was oily and muddy, her hair had long since been plastered to it, and her fatigues had become a disgusting, second skin. Even through the drugs laced into her bloodstream, her body screamed. Her muscles wept, her nerves burned, her bones groaned.

Nonetheless, she was determined to persevere.

She stood in a line with six others, using a log a foot in diameter as a team-barbell. For the past two hours, they'd stood on the beaches of Coronado, lifting and curling the wooden beam, in full gear. They ran with it, they carried it up hills, held it over their heads. More than once, her peer stumbled under the immense mass. More than once, Meghan picked up the slack just long enough for the next person to recover. Each time, her yells of anguish filled the ears of those around her. Each time, she could feel the very fibers of her muscles ripping and tearing, and the sensation of the nanides rebuilding them just as quickly burned even worse.

They did the same with the inflatable personnel boat they were assigned. They did lunges with it, crawled the beaches with it, ran miles with it - through the base, over the rocks, to the water, where they put it in and paddled for more miles. In her CO's words, "we're going to beat you with the stick we make you find." She ate mouthfuls of sand, washed down by heaps of saltwater, with a dessert consisting of sweat and dirt.

And then they did it all again in the dead of night, when they got _stealthy_ mouthfuls of sand, instead.

But she could not falter.

* * *

 **November 15** **th** **, 2013**

The underwater and diving phase, in Meghan's mind, was where the high impact selection phase to weed out the half-assers turned into the phase that makes frogmen, frogmen. Even as she navigated the flora-filled ocean bottom in full scuba gear, she could tell that this was something the aquaphobes would struggle with.

Meghan, however, was right at home. This was her element, her quiet place. This was the heaven she remembered – languid water flowing every which way, allowing her to lithely push through the waves. She'd learned the physics, and she'd learned the advanced medical concepts associated with combat diving.

It was time to check in with her old therapist.

By now, the exercises had become routine. She knelt at the bottom of the pool for extended periods of time, minutes into hours, with the rebreather strapped to her back. Hands on her thighs, fingers spread apart at two- no, three centimeters tip to tip.

This was the phase where the oft-talked about "drowning torture" exercises took place. It made sense to her why they did it, obviously they needed to be prepared for any equipment fault or unforeseen situation. She even supported doing it, but sympathized with the recruits that couldn't handle the prolonged oxygen deprivation sessions.

Meghan found that the nanide surges were akin to a double-edged sword; they allowed her to hold her breath for an obscenely long time, but if she exceeded that limit, the head rush would be remarkably debilitating. Lera would need to know about this. Any excess of stimuli during use would be exacerbated to unsafe levels.

Day in and day out, they repeated the underwater maneuvers. She couldn't lie and say any of it was easy, because every day her body would find new ways to tell her that this was insanity.

But she would not falter.

* * *

 **January 9, 2014**

For the third time that afternoon, Meghan shook herself awake, aided by the de facto "squad leader" slamming a map down onto the tree stump in front of her. They'd been sent off to San Clemente island to put their weeks of intensified land navigation, live fire and explosive courses, and small unit tactics, to the test.

"Alright gentlem- ah, everyone…" Meghan fought of the urge to roll her eyes, though she'd become more than used to the stumbling blocks that came with her situation.

The brunet man cleared his throat, making brief eye contact with Meghan, "Anyway, I'm Craig Jenson, and I'll be leading our fire team in this exercise."

Per their instructions, while there was a team leader, all members were to contribute to the course navigation. They hashed out the details, and started the hike. A minute in, Jenson dropped back in formation to fall in line with Meghan.

"So uhh, sorry about the little faux pas earlier, I didn't mean to-"

She held up a hand, "Don't apologize, I get it. The 'No Girls Allowed' club is all confused the instant a second X chromosome is involved," Jenson snickered between her words , "but I appreciate the notion."

Jenson nodded, "Of course. A fighting force is only as strong as the people in it, and that includes strength of character. Wouldn't be much of an anchor if I was alienating my peers."

Meghan turned to look at the man. His face was rugged, slightly higher cheekbones underneath noticeably scarred skin, especially a prevalent gash on his right side. Dark brown stubble dotted his jawline, somewhat extensively, given that the men were freshly shaved before their departure.

 _Wonder what he'd look like with a beard…_

She hummed at him, "Nice outlook. You've got my vote, _sir_." She accentuated the last word, elbowing him in the arm. He shook his head with a smirk.

"Yeah, yeah. Well listen, I gotta get back to the front. Let's kick ass, dig?" He presented his fist, and she tapped his hand.

"Hell yeah, bossman."

Jenson jogged ahead, gear jostling and clanging on his back. He barked out orders to the team, and they got to work. Their next few weeks were full of trials, toil, and success.

And she did not falter.

* * *

 **June 18, 2014**

Meghan could never complain that her life was boring. In these short years, she'd seen and done more than her teenaged self could have ever dreamed of. She never lacked that sweet adrenaline rush, and was constantly challenged to be a better soldier, a better person.

Who else could say they've hiked the snow covered Alaskan peaks, gone ice diving, survived _anything_ as hardcore as SERE training, and jumped out of a plane – not once, but dozens of times? All of this was capped off by systematic breaching and clearing of mockup buildings, at the peak of a mountain _reached_ by a high altitude low opening parachute jump.

"Aight, _bosslady_ , what's the plan?" Jenson pulled back the bolt on his marksman rifle and rested the firearm on his knee.

Meghan slung her rifle and smoothed out the building blueprint, "OK, forward recon reveals five rooms, twelve tangos. We stack on the front door, and Keller plants a door charge. Jenson, you flash the room and push in. Team follows, fans and clears the targets. Keller moves hard left, Jenson rear left, Harris rear right, and I go hard right. Flash and clear, be mindful of the hostages. We have twenty five seconds after the door goes, and accuracy counts, so move quickly and efficiently. Questions?"

No one voiced an objection, so she nodded once, "Then let's begin."

Directional detonations, ear shattering bangs, and controlled staccatos of gunfire peppered the spring-loaded targets, and one by one they fell. Meghan waited for the horn telling them to stand down.

"Chemical explosive!"

The shout from Jenson's room tore her attention from the timer and had her charging to the sound of his voice, Keller and Harris in tow. Meghan tossed her rifle to the side.

"Jenson, get that panel open!" She ripped open a velcro patch on her chest and removed a set of cutters. Muttering to herself as she traced the wiring, Meghan took stock of the mechanisms on display in the recreated crude explosive.

"Keller, turn the pressure valve 45 degrees counter. Harris, slowly pull the lever downwards – slow like it'll bite you if you go too fast." She snipped a red wire, snuffing out one of the two red lights on the housing.

"Jenson, listen carefully. The instant I cut this wire, I need to you smash the junction box as hard as you can."

"What-"

" _Please_ just do it-" she snipped the blue wire, causing the other red light to supernova "-now!" He slammed the stock of his rifle into the electrical hub. A high-pitched whine slowly lowered in intensity as the light flickered and died out.

Meghan slumped against the wall, exhaling slowly. The horn rang in her ears, and her squad looked to the door as their instructor sauntered in.

"Congratulations, you all passed, excellent work. A SEAL has to be ready for absolutely anything, and make use of whatever is on hand to accomplish the mission."

Jenson piped up from her left, "All respect, sir, EOD wasn't in the syllabus for this week. What's the situation?"

The man, clad in perfectly pristine uniform, looked him up and down, "Some government team no one has ever heard of is pushing for extra training in chemical ordnance disposal in special military divisions."

Meghan's breathing evened out, and she pushed herself to a standing position, "Back to camp, then, sir?"

He nodded, "Dismissed."

The wakeup call blared loudly and clearly at her – this was it. This was the manner of situation she should always expect, with stakes elevated to the highest degree. Her actions would determine life and death, of herself and her team. _This_ was what being America's finest would be all about.

And she was ready to be the warden to what she held dear.

* * *

 **A/N: Hi again, everyone! I'm sorry that this one took so long to come out. I've had most of it done for a while, but I sat on it for a while because I wasn't sure if I liked it. I hope you enjoyed it, at least, and I appreciate your patience and readership!**


	15. Flashpoint

**July 12, 2014**

The sense of profound amazement and borderline disbelief simmered in Meghan's mind, head swimming in a constant haze. She could hardly remember what had come before the last several months of relentless training and short nights, and even now she fought the inner suspicion that there was a hidden test just waiting to get fired in her direction.

Fewer than 50,000 Americans have ever attended a SEAL graduation. It is no hyperbole to say that each successive graduation ceremony is a significant piece of history. For those in the audience today, that notion got cranked to eleven. To say that the US military "advertised" the graduation of its warriors would be terribly disingenuous. However, to say that they would pass up the chance to tell the world that, for the first time, a woman had passed the test of tests?

Now that would be downright wrong.

Meghan had been told that "a few news outlets" wanted a moment with her. Within days, major networks had lined up to get her picture and ask for quotes. They would get their time, but this moment was all about her, and her comrades. Cameras and microphones dotted the crowd, soaking up every word as the officers detailed what this group went through, how they were special among the most spectacular.

Their speeches projected the gravity of the situation perfectly – that the pinning of the tridents on the chests of the newest SEALs, while an extraordinary accomplishment, also sets the bar of impossibly high performance even higher. It turned out that Meghan had not reached the finish line, but rather earned a spot at the true starting line. She had the chance to become a team player on the world's biggest stage, to put all the training to the highest echelon of real life combat.

It was true, and she knew it. Thinking that this was the mountaintop would be doing herself and those around her a disservice, and put her in line for one of many rude awakenings. Earning her trident meant many things, one of which being that she would then need to earn the respect of the world's best soldiers. At this level, the difference between an "FNG" and a veteran SEAL was, in the words of Twain, that of "a lightning bug and a lightning strike."

Still, one thing at a time. Meghan had already become the one percent of the one percent, and this day was meant to be celebratory.

She and her peers looked crisp and pristine in their dress whites, with the four person brass band setting the tone for just how momentous this occasion was. The graduation speech, while succinct, was the most accurate reflection on personal character she had ever heard. These recruits had shown the fortitude to stretch the limits of what was physically and mentally possible.

The voice of the retiring SEAL boomed over the plaza, "There is no splendid ceremony or fuss, but the education you are receiving is better than any Ivy League College or University can offer. Through the crucible of this training you will gain an inkling of self-awareness. You will learn to seek your own strengths and weaknesses; your boundaries and your fears."

Over the years, Meghan had experienced several iterations of the same question: What does it take to make a good SEAL?

The speaker must have read her mind. He took a moment to clear his throat, forehead creasing as he thought back to his own memories, "What does it mean to be a good SEAL? Is it the man who swims hundreds of miles and runs thousands? Is it impeccable standards? Spit and polish? One of my BUD/S instructors was a Vietnam veteran who said 'I did five tours of duty and I never saw an obstacle course, and I never had to run more than 50 yards in the jungle.' So it isn't just about being physically healthy and capable."

The speaker recalled a moment that stuck with him, in which he barked back at a superior officer after he was reprimanded for a uniform violation. Although he "only just barely escaped with his life," Meghan held back a smirk. She could certainly relate to that. Not every CO was as lenient as Samson.

"But that old warrant officer knew something back then that I didn't: the definition of discipline. I had allowed him to form an opinion of me: if I made the wrong decision when the choices are easy, what would I do when the choices are hard? You know the right action, and you take the right action: Only. Every. Time."

If anything, the points that the decorated man made were the cement that held it all together. The SEAL ethos, the months of classroom and field training, the lifestyle that was her new norm. Now, she started to get a better idea of what made the perfect soldier.

A good SEAL acknowledges that good fortune heavily impacts their futures, but that they can't outrun bad luck. A good SEAL seeks and accepts responsibility for their own actions, or lack thereof. A good SEAL is a leader who understands that leadership is not given, but honed through experience; that true leadership is revealed when one proves that they have what it takes, whatever that may be in any given situation. A good SEAL embraces the concept not of one leader and many followers, but of _leaders leading leaders_ , and of being part of a team of creative thinkers bound by their tridents.

The man turned to look at the graduates, and Meghan felt his steely gaze fix on her, specifically, "You are not here to lead the hunt for the terrorist masterminds of the world, you are here to make sure this community continues. I envy you; I worry for you. In the meantime, there is work to be done. Congratulations."

He led the assembly in a lengthy round of applause, as the audience stood and cheered respectfully. Meghan allowed herself to look around at the crowd, there to see their sons, friends, husbands. She sighed, knowing that the only people there for her were CBS, CNN, Fox... rather than loving hugs, they were there to get a story out of Meghan. They could swear up and down that they were proud of her on behalf of the country or whatever such bullshit, but at the end of the day the narrative was what made them care. She stepped off the raised platform, resignation planting itself in her mind, until a couple with press guest passes at the center of the seating aisle caught her attention.

Her mother and father.

The world around her fell away, sound drowning out and forgotten. Her jaw hung open, until she shook her stupor and paced in their direction. McKenzie jogged to meet her halfway and threw her arms around Meghan's neck, squeezing as tightly as she could.

Her mother spoke through regular sniffles, "You _did it_ , sweetie."

"I can't believe you came… When I sent the invites, I thought-" Meghan's voice came out as a broken whisper, as she was unable to keep her voice from cracking.

McKenzie drew away and gestured to Sean, "Are you kidding? We wouldn't miss _this_ for the world!"

And there he stood, hands in his pockets, "Hi, Angel."

That was it, that was all it took for the dam to break. Tears slid down Meghan's cheeks. She nearly jumped at him, engulfing Sean in a crushing hug.

"Hi, daddy."

"I'm so, _so_ proud of you, Meghan." She tightened her fist, bunching his shirt between her fingers. Sean rubbed her back as she cried, screwing his eyes shut as he took in the fact that, for the first time in years, his little girl was in his arms.

Maybe not so little anymore…

They split apart, and Meghan rubbed at her eyes, "I'm… I just, I don't know what to say…"

McKenzie took her hand, "Oh baby, you don't have to say anything."

Meghan pulled in a shaky breath, smoothing out her uniform, "From the badges I'm guessing you'll be joining me in the media event?"

Sean nodded, "As soon as they heard we were here, they pretty much insisted. If it's alright with you, we'll be right there with you."

She grabbed both of her parents in one armed hugs.

"Let's go be stars."

* * *

It took all of three minutes under the blinding lights and camera shots for Meghan to decide that she never wanted to do this again. Already, she could feel the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, courtesy of the bulbs trained on her like the barrels of a thousand guns. Nonetheless, she and her parents clipped the microphones on, and waited for the barrage of questions.

"Barrage" was probably the most accurate description.

"McKenzie, what were you going through as you watched your daughter graduate one of the nation's toughest military programs?"

She straightened up, "I think anything less than 'elation' would be a lie. Meghan has been making both of us proud for years, even when she was thousands of miles away, on deployment. Maybe it's a little dramatic, but she gives me reason to do my best every day."

Another commotion roared to life as the reporters vied for attention, and the Navy moderator picked one.

"Sean, do you have any reservations about your daughter putting herself in a position as dangerous as this?"

Meghan watched as her father crossed one leg, hands moving animatedly as he spoke, "Not at all. She's proven to me more than once that she's the strongest woman on the planet, and that doubting her only serves to stoke an untamable fire. Does part of me wish that she could stop right now, go home, raise a family, get a safe job, take up stamp collecting? Sure, of course I'm worried for my little girl's safety. But, I also know that it would take an act of God to knock her down and keep her there."

Meghan felt her chest swell with thankfulness at the praise, and gave a contented sigh.

"Meghan, what drove you to not only join the SEAL program, but see the whole thing through, and what does it mean to you to be the first female to pass the program?"

"Well, like my dad mentioned, the notion that 'she can't do it' has always been the biggest thing. I was trying to be an Olympian as a teenager before I broke my arm, and I heard the doubt from my friends. I decided to join the military, and I heard the doubt from dad. I decided to join the SEALs, and I heard the doubt from _everyone_ , even my boyfriend, who I still love very much despite it. In essence, I wanted to prove that I can do anything, and carve a path for the women behind me to smash the glass ceiling."

For a brief moment, the room was as calm as could be. Like many other times in which Meghan spoke with such conviction, the pack bowed their heads to _her_.

"So, why did it have to be a military career, particularly the SEALs? There's no doubt in my mind that you have passion, but couldn't you have set a similar precedent in a medical or research field?"

"If that were my calling, maybe, sure. But I love this job. I love being a part of this cohort, whether it be in a situation room or doing a HALO drop over deserts. I feel like my service makes a positive difference, and that it's good for me as a person."

She paused, looking at each of her parents, "See, my fears aren't the same as mom's and dad's. Sure, getting injured or killed in the line of duty would be terrible, but my biggest concern is having all of this training drilled into me before I can be deployed on my first mission, and make that positive difference. I understand the risks, and the danger, but if I could be sent to wherever I'm needed most tomorrow, I would."

She meant every word, and knew that soon enough, she could put those words into action.

* * *

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

Sean chuckled, "We'll let you know, Angel."

Meghan whined, hating being in the dark, even if this alleged "surprise" was as worth it as they kept assuring her. They'd given her the chance to swap her dress whites for something more comfortable, but insisted that she "make herself presentable."

The car ride had been odd, in a word, but she couldn't say it had been negative. She finally had the chance to air out the situation with her parents, and they'd been able to just _talk_. Meghan acknowledged that she had been a rebellious little shit, and Sean admitted that the stick that used to be up his ass had made _him_ a sour little shit.

Meghan felt the car stop, and accepted her mother's hand to get out. Her parents walked her down a path, and her ears picked up the sound of waves lapping at the shores. Her father pulled the blindfold away, and she gasped at the sight in front of her.

A row of people sat on a seaside patio, beneath a congratulatory banner surrounded by party accessories. Most of her high school team, led by Kyle Jackson, cocky smile on his face. Rebecca Winters, no longer standing with that idle fidget she used to possess. James Samson, with Angela Foster and Hector Garza flanking him. Mary Knowles and Andrew Peters looked her up and down, at the end product of their efforts. At the center, was her boyfriend of five years, David Harris.

Meghan found herself crying once again. This was her biggest achievement yet. This was her perfect scenario. _This_ was her ultimate goal. McKenzie pushed her forward, and she embraced David before kissing him like they were the only ones in the world.

Just for today, she could say…

 _I made it_

* * *

 **A/N: The speech from the retiring SEAL, and some of the surrounding flavor text, was inspired by an article I read on the SEAL graduation ceremony. Admittedly, I don't think I'm anywhere close to being able to write such a charismatic speech, so for the sake of writing a good story, I called in some fire support.**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and let me know what you thought! Have a good one!**


	16. Fire for Effect

**January 4, 2016**

Meghan had once read somewhere that one couldn't know what "hot" truly was unless they'd been in 120 degree heat with eighty pounds of gear strapped to their body. A movie she'd seen, maybe. Didn't matter, shit still sucked. A hot gust blew at her face, carrying a sand payload bound for any crevice it could reach. Meghan pulled her shemagh closer and slung her rifle over her shoulder.

"Who ordered the pound of sand that's working its way into my fucking boots?"

The shout came from behind her, muffled by the tight fabric on her head covering. She turned back, "I think it was _your_ dumb ass when you kept jinxing us this morning, saying it was gonna be a good day, Spears!"

A third figure piped in from further down the line, "Yeah, dick, you know damn well there's no good days in the sandbox!"

"But did we die? No? Then it could be worse, you pessimistic shmucks!" He held a fist up and shook it.

That, she thought, was certainly true. The past few years had splashed a number of paints onto the canvas of Meghan's life. Splotches of orange when a mission was successful. Swaths of red when she lost friends, comrades, brothers in combat. Swishes of blue when those goddamn Seahawks won the Super Bowl, and spackles of green when they blew it in the last minute next year. A spurt of purple when David had asked her to marry him…

…and an explosion of pink when she said yes.

Whoever was the artist behind her painting was an expressive soul, but she wasn't going to question their decisions. All things considered, she was perfectly happy… if one ignored the ever-sweltering climate of her post in Bagram Air Base.

They'd spent the better part of the last two weeks trundling through the desert, scaling mountains, and traversing canyons to recon a grid square with a watch list target. The mission statement allowed for the team to make their own determinations on dispatching any hostiles, so long as the objective was achieved without open conflict, but the bastards didn't even have the common courtesy to present themselves for an early grave! The countryside must have been part of the conspiracy, with the howling winds battering Meghan's team constantly day in and day out, and the sun tossing mirages at the squad. By the end of the mission window, she was convinced a mountain lion would come along in the middle of the night and make things even more _interesting_.

Despite it all, however, they'd done what they had to, and with minimal whining. Meghan led her team onto the road leading to Bagram, cresting the final hill and flashing the signal for re-entry. At this point, the only thing on her mind was how badly she needed a shower.

She turned, "Debrief in 10 mikes, then you're all free for the evening. Dismissed."

A chorus of "ma'am" echoed her, and Meghan headed for the command center.

* * *

Major Grenier wore a tired expression, weights pulling at the bags below his eyes. Sleep hadn't come easily for some time, and good news were few and far between. It turned out that the house of cards that was the Middle East just refused to stay standing, no matter how many times they set fire to it. The report from Meghan's team gave a glimmer of hope that _just maybe_ something would go smoothly, but he held fast to the guarded optimism that had hung over him for years.

Grenier slid his hand down his face, blowing out a weary sigh, "Lovely. Thank you all, dismissed."

He rubbed at his eye as the team picked up their gear and slowly shuffled to the door. He hummed as a thought flashed into his mind, and called out, "Castellano! Hang back for a moment."

Meghan looked to the others and tilted her chin towards the door. She leaned her rifle against a desk and clasped her hands together, "'S happening, boss? Am I in timeout?"

Grenier chuckled warmly, "Not quite. You caught me on a good day, so I won't even bring up your shirt hangin' out of your pants." She smirked, but made no effort to act like she was at all bothered.

"Anyway, no. There's someone here to speak with you about an… interesting opportunity." Grenier motioned to a door at the back of the room, where the plastic flaps swayed aside to allow a woman to enter.

She was a tad shorter than Meghan, but exuded raw authority the likes of which Meghan hadn't seen since, well, herself. Her hair was exceptionally well done up, makeup perfectly accentuating her flawless, chocolate-colored skin, suit arranged in a sharp luster that practically forced one to pay attention. Meghan subconsciously straightened up, tucking her shirt in as subtly as possible.

The woman stopped just short of Meghan, stoic expression quickly melting into a sly smile and offered her hand, "Meghan Castellano. I've had an eye on you for quite some time. They say that you're remarkable in every sense of the word, and I can safely say that they were not lying."

Meghan blinked to refocus, "I- ah, appreciate it ma'am, but you've got me at a disadvantage."

"You can call me Six. I'm here on behalf of a multi-national program, looking for top talent to bring into the fold. We need the best of the best, people who have broken and continue to break the mold. You fit that description to the last detail."

Meghan glanced at Grenier, who had yet to even attempt to address either of them, "A recruitment trip, then? I imagine the Navy might have something to say about that, though if you say it's multi-national… Which agency is heading this? CIA, FBI? And what's the job?"

"We're called Team Rainbow. A counter-terrorism agency with the funding and support of the world's nations, with the mission of neutralizing the most dangerous criminals and killers. We collect talent from the best of the best in renowned CTUs, and temper them into the shield protecting the world." Six slid a folder to her, a collection of individual profiles within.

Meghan scanned each one, absorbing the details that made up every one of the world's best. Cut from every cloth, from all races and creeds. They were like her – coming from backgrounds of all kinds, but willingly putting themselves through the wringer just to prove that it would not break them. Their resumes were outrageous; on every page she saw operations and initiatives that caught the world's eye – and these were the people making them happen! The stage didn't get any bigger than this, the stakes didn't get any higher.

Meghan locked her eyes on Six, a clenched fist holding position on the table, "I want in."

Six smiled again, crossing her arms, "I had a feeling you might."

Meghan spun around and looked at her commanding officer, "Major Grenier, I want to officially request a-"

He held his hand up, "It's already approved. Actually, when Madame Six came looking for prime candidates, your name was the first one on my list. Your experience as an intel officer made the choice easy."

She softened her gaze, and gave him a single, shallow nod before looking back to Six, "When do you want me?"

They shook hands once more, and Meghan felt lightning course through her veins, "You can report to our United Kingdom based facility in May. Until then, you're free to serve your superiors here."

"Thank you, ma'am, I very much appreciate your confidence in me, and thank you for the offer."

"I know you do, and I appreciate your willingness to be a part of our team," Six crossed her legs, "Oh, and one more thing – you were the second person here at Bagram that I talked to. I think you'll be very interested to know who the other was."

* * *

"Son of a bitch, she wasn't kiddin.'"

Meghan sat down at a metal table near the back of the cafeteria, across from a man she had come to know quite well.

Craig Jenson.

Their palms smacked together with a resounding crack, fingers curling together before pulling apart and forming a fist to bump the other's hand. Meghan couldn't scrub the grin from her face – she was buzzing from the news. She had remained in near-constant contact with the men from her SQT team; surviving hell itself together tended to bind a group, for better or worse. The people that she graduated the program with were all family, for certain, but these guys?

They were her brothers.

Harris had been stationed in Qatar for the better part of a year, doing largely what she was – desert recon, occasional search and destroy. Keller, the last she knew, was still with his team in Little Creek back home. Jenson, the lucky bastard, got to slum it at Bagram with her. It wasn't very often that they got the opportunity to work together, but whenever they were on base at the same time, they were bound to be found in the same places.

Meghan smiled and tossed a full canteen at him before twisting the top off of her own and downing the contents, "Didn't know they let cavemen into the club! Goddamn, Craig, that thing is massive. You sure there isn't animals taking shelter in there?"

"They have the same acceptance policy as they do for Amazons like yourself. You got bigger arms than most of the dudes, you're makin' 'em feel inferior!" Craig laughed as he dodged the water bottle whizzing by his head.

"Ass." She muttered, smirk betraying her attempted expression.

Meghan wasn't a stranger to the idea of fear. It was a common response to the unknown, expressing uneasiness when presented with something equal parts dangerous and exciting. The difference between fear that strengthens one's resolve, and fear that causes their foundation to crumble, is how they leverage it. Acting as a tool of war can be daunting by itself, and adding the pressure of being the tip of the special operations spear gives even the toughest of warriors pause.

The best approach to braving the storm, she found, was utilizing every port made available to her. In the devil's lair that is the Middle East, these ports were few and far between, but she had found hers. Craig was her partner in crime, her confidant, and one of her best friends. The ability to speak one's mind with no fear of social barrier, where any topic or joke was welcome, was truly freeing. They could discuss the day's training regimen, how the home life was going, and more recently, how their pet projects were going.

"How's this for freaky coincidence, Meg? Of all the psychos and head cases here, they asked _us_ to be in their new pop band."

"It's pretty unreal, but I don't think it was _all_ coincidence. You remember the thing that happened in the house mockup back in Alaska? What the instructor said?" She crossed her legs and rested an elbow on the table.

He quirked a brow at her and scratched his chin, but realization spilled onto his face, "Damn, guess we were guinea pigs from the start, huh?"

"Maybe, but now we get to be secret agent guinea pigs." They shared a boisterous laugh, drawing the looks of a few of the others eating their dinner. Craig stared at the shadow cast by the whirling fan hear the ceiling before snapping his fingers.

"Oh right, I meant to ask you: Six mentioned a pretty hefty R&D budget for whatever neat-o toys the team wanted to try out. You gonna bring your spy kit for dummies with you?"

She scoffed at him, "Only if you decide to bring your saran wrap rifle window with you."

Craig placed a hand on his chest, voice laced with indignation, "I'll have you know that my 'saran wrap' keeps both fruits and vegetables fresh and crisp, _even_ in the pressure cooker known as Afghanistan!"

Meghan couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. _This_ was what helped her stay grounded, no matter the situation. She had him to get through training, she had him to stay mentally right on base, and she'd have him to tackle this completely new experience, with completely new people.

"With a pitch like that, I think your callsign should be Shamwow. You'll be a hit!"

"Mm, I dunno, I was thinking Slapchop. Sounds more edgy."

" _Sounds_ more like something a twelve year old would say." Mock indignation painted his face once more, a look that Meghan thought he could pull off on command better than he should've been able to.

 _He really is a princess, with that look on his mug._

"Well, you look kinda like Barbosa, if he was younger and less gray."

Craig hummed, "You know, I don't hate the pirate theme. I might think about that one," He lifted his leg onto the bench, sitting with his arm resting on his knee, "You got any ideas for yours?"

Whether or not Meghan knew it, the answer had been obvious for her entire life. From the time she could understand speech, one name was attached to her life. Even to that day, Meghan's father _still_ called her 'Angel.' And over the course of her life, she could point to individual milestones that forged part of the metaphysical armor she wore on a daily basis.

Meghan was fiercely protective of her family

What moniker would she use in the field, where she was a force of nature, standing guard for her team against the unknown? She crossed her arms and leveled a smirk at Craig.

"Valkyrie."

* * *

 **A/N:** **We've finally reached the main event, in which Meghan has been formally invited to join Team Rainbow! I hope you all enjoyed, and let me know what you thought!**


	17. Into the Inferno

**April 30, 2016**

Meghan looked away from a satellite map when the sound of Sea Hawk rotors hit her ears. She pulled the headset off and handed it to the specialist at the nearest workstation. With a turn of her head, she shouted.

"Craig, on me! Cavalry's here."

Jenson shot a brief goodbye at the man he was talking to before joining Meghan as she left the command center. The two donned protective eyewear in response to the dust kicking up from the helicopter blades, holding fast twenty feet from the air transports. The doors slid open, and several armored individuals disembarked. Meghan counted seven, taking note of the slight differences in their uniforms. The whirs from the helicopters lowered as the engines spun down, and the pilot of one of them leaped from the cockpit before circling around the bird and joining the newcomers.

Meghan and Craig marched forward, pulling their face coverings away to speak freely. She shouted to the now eight people, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Afghan-Pakistani border. Hope you like blistering heat and sand, because that's pretty much all we've got."

The tallest of the group spoke, "Aye, that you do, lass. Though, when I told Six I wanted to vacation someplace warm, this isn't quite what I 'ad in mind."

She smirked and shook hands with who she assumed was the fireteam leader, "I'm intelligence specialist, and future Rainbow operative, Meghan Castellano, United States Navy SEALs. This is combat specialist Craig Jenson, same story," Craig stood with his hands clasped behind his back, while Meghan cocked a hip and rested her hand on it, "We're runnin' the show in this pit, and we very much appreciate the help you all are pitching in. Who's who?"

"Name's Seamus Cowden, otherwise known as Sledge," The Scotsman swept an arm to his side, "An' goin' down the line, we have Monika 'IQ' Weiss, Marius 'Jager' Streicher, Sébastien 'Buck' Côté, Emmanuelle 'Twitch' Pichon, Gilles 'Montagne' Touré, Jordan 'Thermite' Trace, and Shuhrat 'Fuze' Kessikbayev." Each operator nodded or waved as their name was called. Seamus looked back to his hosts.

"Wanted to save the orientation proper for when you two joined us in Hereford. We had name plates and candy and icebreaker games all planned out, too, but I guess the gits out here were too eager for us to come meet you 'ere."

Craig laughed, dropping his bravado for just a moment, "Believe me, we're just as sad as you are. But I think we can pay 'em back."

Seamus set his hands on his waist, nodding at the two SEALs, "Not normally how we run, but Six says that we're all yours today. Wants to test your mettle or some such, so give the word."

Meghan motioned for everyone to follow, "I'll give you all the rundown, let's get to business."

* * *

Two large monitors rested on the wall of the briefing room, controlled by the remote Meghan held in her hand. She leaned against a table, pointing the laser at each section of interest.

"Here's a floor plan of the border checkpoint, and here's the camera feeds from a couple CCTV lenses that didn't get smashed to pieces when this place got fragged. First floor has a lobby, security center, stockroom, workshop, lavatory, and visa check-in. Second floor has offices, an armory, and the closed-circuit control station. The solid yellow lines you see are windows or chest-high walls with longer sight lines, and the breaks in the white solid lines are doorways."

Meghan looked around to ensure she still had everyone's attention. She cleared her throat and tossed the laser pointer to Jenson, "Tell 'em about the tangos, Craig." She swirled her canteen of water and tossed it back.

"From what we can tell, this is a very well-equipped terrorist cell with next to no notoriety, which by itself is a little terrifying. They've identified themselves as the 'White Masks,' and from the perspective of the US and its allies, this is their first time openly ruining things. Our job, is to make it their _last_ attack. Transmissions from the station before it went dark are… less than helpful. Armed hostiles stormed the place, but as of right now, we have no idea how many there are, or if they have _any_ intention of diplomacy. I think we can all hazard a guess."

Sébastien called from the back, "Any civilians?"

Craig resumed control of the room, "Unknown number of non-military checkpoint employees taken hostage, including the station head, being used as assets. Until we get in position for drone recon, assume several, and in any room. There's likely to be some casualties, as well."

Sébastien stroked his beard.

"So, what? They just showed up, shot some blokes, took some hostages, all without making any demands? What's the point, they just have a couple extra bullets that a range wouldn't satisfy?" Seamus spoke over crossed arms.

Meghan shrugged, "I don't think I need to tell you that, sometimes, groups out here operate outside the concept of 'sense.' The way I see it, it wouldn't matter if they did it because they thought America could shove a sand-covered grenade where the sun don't shine, or if they'd done it because they wanted a couple Hershey bars in exchange. They've fucked up the joint, people have died, and might continue to die. Good enough?"

A low grumble and head nod were her answer.

A light, yet sharp, German accent addressed Craig, "Should we expect explosives?"

Craig shrugged, "Unclear. But, we're expecting just about anything, which is why I think your expertise will be invaluable."

Monika held his gaze before sparing a glance at the video feeds, then back to Craig, before giving a curt nod. Meghan knew the woman by reputation; her advanced electronic detection device was two steps above what most of the US military had access to. Even if there wasn't a threat of bombs, she wanted Monika's brand of experience on hand.

Meghan called out to the room, "Anything else?"

No response.

"Alright, then listen up. We'll have Fire Team Alpha, consisting of Touré, Trace, Cowden, Weiss, Streicher, led by Jenson. Bravo will be Pichon, Kessikbayev, Côté, led by me. In fifteen mikes, two APCs will arrive to take us to the target building. Alpha will deploy at the west end of the building and advance on the main entrance. After performing drone recon, you'll clear the first floor. Touré will spearhead the assault, with Weiss sweeping for electronics ahead of his path, Trace will clear any obstacles present. Cowden, Streicher, and Jenson will enter through the window leading into the stockroom, and snake through the other side of the first floor. Link up at the entryway into the lobby, and wrap the rest up from there.

"At the same time, Bravo will take position on the roof to gain intel on the second floor. Pichon will use her specialized drone to seek and destroy any electronics detrimental to the mission, and provide eyes for Kessikbayev to use his cluster charges. Côté will be our overwatch for when we push the entry points. Questions?"

Nods of approval went around the room, and several of them started last minute checks of their equipment. Cowden met her gaze, "On your go, then, boss."

Meghan picked up one of her cameras from a table, "Let's go be big goddamn heroes."

* * *

The rear hatch of the armored vehicle dropped open, and Meghan led her team to the perimeter wall of the facility. She pulled her tactical smart device from her chest rig and keyed it to the street camera facing the northeast corner of the building, panning left and right.

"They have the place locked up tight, and I'm not seeing any foot mobiles outside the walls. Second floor balcony is empty, but every wooden wall I can see has some kind of metal reinforcement. Whoever these guys are, they're more well equipped than your usual terrorist…"

"Then we should be quick." Shuhrat pulled the bolt of his Kalashnikov back.

Meghan nodded, and stowed the tablet. They moved to the wall of the building, and launched a pair of rappel lines. The metal hooks snagged on the stone at the top, burying themselves within. In teams of two, the operators strapped in and climbed to the roof. Beads of sweat rolled down Meghan's forehead, muscles working double duty to reach the roof. The smooth-cut brickwork provided little traction, more than once causing boots to slip from their holds. Half a minute later, Meghan and Shuhrat hoisted themselves to the top, and grabbed their squadmates' hands to pull them up.

"Gear check, everyone still good?" All nods, and Meghan looked around at the area, "Then fix suppressors. Buck, take position at that opening above the lobby. Make yourself a ghost, but call out whatever you see." He shuffled to his designated spot.

Meghan looked at a dome structure next to them, "Twitch, what's the max drop height that thing can handle?"

Emmanuelle unclasped the pouch on her hip and retrieved her drone, "Tested it to two stories. It's pretty hardy, but I don't want to take chances."

"Perfect, then you're gonna drop it in through here, "she tapped the dome, "and guide Fuze on where to set up." She looked at Shuhrat, "You have full shoot-to-kill authority, but if there's any hostages _anywhere_ in the rooms, do _not_ hit that trigger. Understood?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good, then get in position. Move on the sound of hell breaking loose downstairs."

Meghan moved to Buck's position and tapped him on the shoulder, "Wait till there's no one on that catwalk overlooking the lobby and then tell me."

She prepped a Black Eye camera, flicking the switch and releasing the fast-acting adhesive. She drew her arm back, waiting on the go-ahead from Buck. Fifteen seconds passed, and he held up a thumb. She whipped the device at the top of the wall, watching it land between two static filled television screens. Meghan activated her tablet once again, and switched to her new feed. A faint blue light pulsed on, lens examining the angles visible to it.

"Twitch here. Armory shows six hostiles, no hostages. Office shows three hostiles, ten hostages, all in the southeast corner. CCTV room shows eight hostiles, no hostages. They are patrolling around, but are all staying in their respective areas."

"Valkyrie, this is Blackbeard. We're in position, waiting on your go."

Meghan adjusted her mouthpiece, "Green across the board here. Fuze, how copy?"

"Ready for some fireworks." His voice was filled with a giddy anticipation.

"Wait," The French woman blurted over the comm, "let me warn the prisoners."

* * *

Nervous breaths through tightly bound cloth filled the corner of the office, eyes darting every which way. People praying for their lives were huddled uncomfortably close together, bloodied faces quivering in fear.

Loud bootfalls were present everywhere around them, backgrounded by the tinny radio music playing through dusty speakers.

"Turn that fucking shit off!" One of the gunmen stormed over and blasted the radio with his handgun, drawing whimpers from the group not even twenty feet away. He holstered his weapon and walked off, muttering about how "too goddamn hot" it was.

The ears of the hostage at the front of the assembly perked up at the sound of… a remote-control car? It drove right up to her knees, yellow LED blinking softly. All eyes rested on the device in front of them. The tiny screen on the front of it booted up, and they all watched in bewilderment as it relayed a message to them, piecemeal. One character at a time flashed on the display.

 _G_

 _E_

 _T_

 _D_

 _O_

 _W_

 _N_

 _!_

They looked at each other, confusion weighing on each of them.

* * *

"They got the message, ready to proceed."

Meghan chambered the loading tube of her shotgun, "Copy that. All teams, Operation Dust Line is a go. Weapons hot."

Meghan counted in her head in advance of the first explosion,

 _Three, two, one-_

A siege hammer, breach charge, and cluster charge went off simultaneously. Pops of flashbangs came from several vectors below, followed by pained shouts caused by the explosive pucks above. Steady rapports of gunfire echoed in the halls as the tangos within tried to organize amongst the chaos around them.

"Buck, use the camera from cover to pick out hostiles as they move, and slap 'em down from up here. I'm gonna join Twitch and Fuze in the push on the armory."

"Copy."

Meghan picked herself up and ran to the others, "We'll swing onto the balcony outside of CCTV. Fuze, deploy a charge on the west window, then bust it down and star shooting. Twitch, take the northwest door and do the same. I'll hit the southeast."

The trio hooked in and vaulted down the wall, pushing off to gain momentum for the swing. They split up and assumed positions at their entry points. She heard a pair of muffled coughs from the marksman rifle stationed on the roof.

"Alpha teams, this is Valkyrie. Status report."

"Jager here, we're in the workshop. Heavy resistance, but we are fine."

"This is Sledge, just cleared the security checkpoint. We'll rap 'round and hit 'em from the side. Out."

Meghan flipped her comm channel back to her fire team, "Alpha's making progress. Fuze, hit the switch."

" _Dasvidanya,_ bitches."

Five grenades launched into the room, throwing the entrenched enemies into chaos. More screaming followed, as shards of glass and wooden fragments shot outwards amongst clouds of dirt. Furniture buckled and snapped, curios adorning them tossed around as if in a tumble dryer. After the explosions, the remainder of the barricades broke inwards, and Bravo team set up a crossfire on the survivors. Meghan lined up the glow sights of her shotguns with the prone targets, sending concentrated pellets of buck shot into them. Emmanuelle drove her drone around the room, deftly avoiding bodies and bullets to the best of her ability. She called an all clear, and the three pushed in, boots crunching the debris beneath them. Meghan lifted her shemagh to cover her face to avoid the thick particles hanging in the air.

Meghan relayed hand signals to the team to stack up on the door. She unclasped another pouch on her chest and flashed a mirror around the corner to check the hallway.

"Buck, how we lookin'?"

"Haven't seen any traffic for half a mike, I'm coming in. Don't mind the wall to your right."

The wooden wall of the southeast corner splintered and shot everywhere, a three-foot hole now ventilating the room. Meghan snapped to the loud sound, hand flying to her handgun holster, but took note of the unconcerned expression on the faces of her comrades. They continued checking gear and topping off magazines as Sébastien swung in, unslung his rifle, and took up position behind Shuhrat.

She shook her head, "Alright, Bravo. The hallways are clear, and anyone downstairs is tied up with Alpha. We'll split up to attack the armory – Fuze and Buck, move to the door over there to the balcony and set up on the exterior door to the armory. Twitch, you and I will move to the door near the stairs."

Meghan removed two shells from her ammo belt and filled the tube as she moved to the hallway door. Emmanuelle placed her drone down, examining the contents of the room once again.

"Bravo Lead, we are ready. Give the word."

Emmanuelle preempted Meghan, "Set a cluster charge on the door, there's two within range. Two near you, two near us at the metal detector, one in the small office, one at the north side window."

Meghan snuck a look at her squadmate's wrist interface, "Once the show is over, Buck, make a new door and hold position, looking sixty degrees at the middle lockers. We'll do the same from here. When your guys are down, toss a frag at the middle one."

Meghan tapped Emmanuelle on the shoulder, and pointed at the boarded door. She took the hint, securing a breaching charge on the barricade.

"Bravo 2, detonate in three, two, one…"

The wood exploded in, and Emmanuelle leveled her sights on the two tangos. Four bullets later, they were on the floor. Meghan pushed up to the metal detector and leaned toward the window, raising her shotgun and firing at the enemy in the office, stock bucking hard into her shoulder in tune with the explosions of the cluster charge. The two women remained put behind cover as the noise died, covering their faces when metal hitting metal rang out from the middle of the room.

"SHIT-" The grenade silenced the last man, leaving the armory in the same eerie atmosphere as the previous room. Meghan heaved a sigh.

"Round up!" She hissed at the other two, and when they joined her and Emmanuelle in the archives room, she left them to prepare for the final assault. It then suddenly occurred to her that the noise coming from below had ceased as well.

"Bravo, this is Alpha. All hostiles eliminated, you alright up there?" Meghan sighed again, Craig's report putting her more at ease.

"All good, only the large office left. You guys alright?"

"Aye, nothin' serious," Seamus cut in, "Cuts and bruises. Jager might need a fresh change of pants, but we're fine."

Meghan chuckled dryly, "We can bury them later. Montagne, IQ, and Sledge, take the lobby stairs and assemble at the hallway door to the office. On my signal, take the door down and let 'em have it. The rest of you, secure the perimeter."

Forty five seconds later, she received the green light, and turned to Emmanuelle.

"One at the section of wall nearest us, I can see him under the door, but if I drive the drone further he'll see it for sure."

Meghan pondered for a moment, "Fuze, set up on the wall and-"

"Listen up, out there! Leave now, and let us leave safely, or we'll start killing!" The shouts disrupted Meghan's train of thought, looks of panic floating around the team.

" _Merde_ , I can see the other two next to the hostages!"

Meghan's eyes darted around the room.

The blood pounded against Meghan's eardrums. A needling sensation crawled over her skin, exacerbated by the slightly panicked expressions of those around her. She ran both hands through her damp hair and paced.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"All units, Thermite here. I'm up topside, and I think I have an idea. I'll chuck a flashbang through the dome, and y'all bust in and try to drop 'em."

A lighthouse in the storm, Jordan's proclamation pierced the veil suffocating her mind.

"Meg, that might be your best shot, you should do it!" Craig yelled over the channel.

Lives were in their hands; it was now, or not at all.

"Sledge, IQ, Montagne, breach and push on the bang. Buck, wall! Twitch and Fuze, push in when I take the door down! Send it, Thermite!"

She hoisted her shotgun and waited. The ear-splitting pop rattled the next room, and Rainbow sprung their trap. Meghan's shotgun unleashed a storm of buckshot, sending the flimsy splintered wooden boards spinning into the room. Emmanuelle and Shuhrat perforated the startled terrorist, and he stumbled into the wall before slumping to the floor. Sébastien aerated the wall on their flank with his skeleton key and vaulted inward, in time with Gilles, Monika, and Seamus smashing the door down.

Meghan ducked and slid along the doorframe into the room, taking aim at the two remaining hostiles. They were still between Rainbow and the hostages, shaking off the remnants of the surprise flashbang and frantically trying to choose a target. She dropped her shotgun and pulled her pistol from her hip. Time slowed as she held her breath, closed one eye, and leveled it at center mass. Meghan pulled the trigger, the slide rocking backwards as the second round chambered, and she did the same to the other combatant. Blood sprayed from each of them, and pooled under the bodies as they hit the floor.

Muffled screams came from the people huddled in the corner, their eyes screwed shut as they tried to make themselves as small as possible. Team Rainbow holstered their weapons and moved to assist the civilians, receiving stuttering thanks for their efforts.

Meghan heaved a sigh she didn't realize she was holding and placed a hand to her ear, "All units, hostages secure. Repeat, hostages secure. Moving to extract at exfil point."

She slid her handgun back into its holder, and tilted her head back, "Thanks for the assist, Jordan."

"No problem, ma'am. Didn't wanna say it at the time, but that was a fifty-fifty shot at best."

"Don't remind me." She returned her hand to her side, and walked to the remaining hostages.

* * *

"Was it everything you expected, Meghan?"

"Gonna be honest with you, boss, that was the worst intro party I've ever been a part of. Too much shooting, not enough cheesecake."

Six chuckled warmly, leaning back in her chair. She may not have had serious concerns about scaring off her new recruits on the first day, but it provided some relief to see Meghan making light of the whole thing.

"I'll have Mike pick one up for your _actual_ party, then. But Meghan, in all seriousness, excellent work today. Seamus had nothing but glowing praise for your planning and leadership abilities. I know you're no stranger to directing soldiers you don't know, but as I'm sure you've realized, these lot are no ordinary soldiers."

Meghan wrung her hands, looking away from the screen, "I definitely see that now. I… Well, to be honest, boss, I was a little worried. Against my base instincts and logic, I just wasn't sure if this would end up being the 'match made in heaven' that it seemed. But we pulled off the op with nearly no hitches, and even when the tangos caught me off guard, they had me covered," She consciously stopped the nervous tick and stared at Six, "but they're the real deal, and I can't wait to meet the rest of the team."

The older woman had a knowing smile plastered on her face for Meghan's explanation. She tented her fingers and rested her chin upon them, soaking up every word.

"Excellent. You and Mr. Jenson are welcome to return to Hereford with the contingent you worked with. I look forward to meeting you again. Six, out."

The screen blinked black, and Meghan was left alone. She relaxed into her chair and scrubbed her face with both hands.

"The only easy day was yesterday."

She stood and headed for the door.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone! Here it finally is, Meghan's first mission as part of the team! Apologies for it taking *way* longer to come out than I intended, I just sat on it for a while wondering if I got it just right. I took a couple liberties with some character personalities, but I'm hoping it still comes across well. Let me know what you thought!**


End file.
